


The Shadow on the Pattern

by Lizardbeth



Category: Babylon 5, Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: Background canon pairings, Crossover, Cylons, F/M, Fate & Destiny, Spoilers, Vorlons - Freeform, war and politics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-21
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:47:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 40,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27143378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lizardbeth/pseuds/Lizardbeth
Summary: "Unknown vessel, this is Earth Station Babylon Five. Do you require assistance?"Lords of Kobol. She couldn't have heard correctly. But a gasp in her ear over comms told her that Skulls had heard it, too.A jump gone wrong for a desperate fleet finds an outpost for a mythical place: Earth.A space station, ten years after a devastating war, finds a rag-tag fleet of Humans emerging from Vorlon space after thousands of years, trailing a genocidal enemy behind them.
Relationships: Sam Anders/Kara "Starbuck" Thrace
Comments: 50
Kudos: 62





	1. An Accident of Fate

**Author's Note:**

> A long time ago, I began a crossover what was then my favorite fandom (BSG) and my first fandom (B5). They have some similar themes, and there are verrrry interesting gaps in both shows' lore where the other could fit.
> 
> Even at the time I knew it would appeal to a small group of people (neither Kara/Sam nor Sinclair are the main draws of their respective shows and a crossover probably halves that again), so I wrote it mostly for myself, never really expecting to do much with it. Bored during the pandemic, I read it, and decided I might as well share it, since I still like it. Better a few enjoy it, than no one, I figured.
> 
> Unfortunately I never pushed it all the way through to an alternate Shadow War, but it stops in a good place (about 50k words). New chapters weekly.
> 
> **Setting: shortly after BSG S.3 "Rapture" and before B5 S.1 "Chrysalis". And spins out differently from there with the entire cast of both. Spoilers for both shows after that, though.**

* * *

### Prologue

"This doesn't look right." Racetrack peered out the front window of the Raptor at the moon or planet visible in the lower quadrant. "This should be a nebula. And that planet is way too frakkin' close."

After a moment, Skulls confirmed, "We're about ten light years off our target."

"You are frakking kidding me," she groaned. "I'm never living this down. **Another** missed jump?"

"We found New Caprica last time," Skulls pointed out.

She snorted. "Yeah, and look how well that turned out. Any contacts on dradis?" she asked. It'd be just her luck to have a base star in the system.

"Checking," Skulls reported.

She heard the soft clicks and tried not to tap her fingers impatiently. 

"No contact," he said, and she let out a breath of relief.

At least there were no Cylons. They might as well do the rest of their job since they were here. "Starting scan for materials."

 _Lords, please let this place have something,_ she prayed, activating the scan for water, fuel deposits, and food sources in this system. Hopefully her screwed up jump would have something valuable coming out of it. Maybe enough to erase the memory that she'd frakked it up in the first place. But then she amended, _Something besides algae. Please._

"Wait a minute," he said, sounding startled. "I have contacts. Multiple contacts. Just on the edge of range."

She tensed and her hand tightened on the control stick. "What kind of contacts?"

"I ..." he started, tapped his controls again, and making a puzzled sound. "Too far out to be sure, but... one of 'em is huge. And ... Racetrack, I don't think they're Cylons."

She turned in her chair to look at him, to find him looking back, his eyes wide with what might be amazement or puzzlement or just plain uncertainty. She nodded slowly. "All right. No Cylons though?"

More sure of himself, he nodded and confirmed. She turned back around, forcing a light tone that doesn't quite cover the anxiety, "Let's go take a closer look then. Ready jump back to the barn -- just in case."

"Got it."

She took the Raptor closer to the dradis hits and Skulls was right -- no frakkin' way was that big thing Cylon-built. It was still too far away for a visual, but the display in the console was clear enough. It was a station of some kind -- vaguely cylindrical in shape and several kilometers in length -- and it had several ships around it. Their profiles were unknown according to the computer. One of those ships was about the size of _Galactica_ herself and there was something strangely compelling about it, as if it were a fish in the water, not a spaceship.

This was a civilization completely unknown to the Twelve Colonies. Not Human, not Cylon. Something else.

"Scan it," she ordered tersely. "Scan all of it. I'm laying in the jump as soon as you're done."

She was getting the frak out of here as soon as they had their information. She waited, eyeing the station and those weird ships, nervously wondering when they were going to start heading her way. 

_I am a little fish in the big ocean of space. I'm not important_ , she found herself chanting silently to herself while her hands cramped on the jump lever.

Her comm system crackled and she jerked in surprise. She almost missed the words because her pulse was pounding in her ears so loudly.

" _Unknown vessel, this is Earth Station Babylon Five. Do you require assistance?"_

Lords of Kobol. She couldn't have heard correctly. But a gasp in her ear over comms told her that Skulls had heard it too.

Earth station. _Earth_.

Lords, this was way, way beyond her.

Her hands were shaking as she reached to comms and flipped the switch to open the channel on the wireless. "Negative. Thank you. For offering. But we're okay..." she lifted her hand off the switch before her nervous babble could rouse their suspicion. She took a deep breath and tried again, "We'll just get out of your way. We didn't mean to jump here," she continued. "We're going. Raptor One out."

And she made the Raptor jump away.

* * *

"Where did they go?" Ivanova demanded, staring at her display where the small, unidentified ship had just vanished. Stupid Earth Force cast-off garbage. "Did my display malfunction? Station one, do you read them?"

"The ship isn't on scanners," Risha, in the pit, reported.

Ivanova turned to Corwin; he looked back and gave a small shrug. "They disappeared, Lieutenant Commander. They didn't make a jump point--"

"Not that a ship that small could," she pointed out.

He nodded and continued, "And our gate is quiet. They must still be out there. But with some sort of... chameleon field, maybe?" he suggested hesitantly.

She would've laughed at the idea, but in truth there weren't that many options. Great. Just great. 

Luckily the commander wasn't in session with the Advisory Council today, and when she signaled him, he came to CIC right away.

The small tension that had gripped the dome eased as soon as Sinclair came in and joined her in front of her station. "Lieutenant Commander?"

She showed him the recordings both of the ship itself and the communication they'd had, and then how it had vanished.

His eyebrows went up at the sight, but that was all the reaction he showed before he frowned. "Strange."

"Some kind of ship-sized changeling net, maybe?" she suggested.

"The ship would still show up as an energy source," he pointed out. "That's why nets were never brought into military use. But that's not to say someone didn't figure out another way to make themselves invisible." He tapped a key to rotate the image of the ship, watching it spin slowly. "There's nothing in the computer about it?"

She shook her head. "It has a similar profile to shuttles of Earth and Centauri design. But isn't quite any of them."

"All right. Keep an eye out. I'm going to increase patrols on our perimeter." He shook his head once, still thoughtful. "A ship that small probably has a mother ship. And if they're some kind of new raider, we need to find out."

She nearly missed the tone. Sinclair was a man of subtle shifts and it had taken her a year to figure out how to read him. "You don't think they are?"

"No. That woman's voice was flustered. Maybe we weren't supposed to see her. I'd suspect Earth Force was out here testing something, except...." He pointed to one of the sensor readouts. "Notice they were scanning us as much as we were scanning them. Earth Force wouldn't need to, and raiders aren't going to hit the station -- they're not that stupid. But that ship was here for a reason. We'll have to wait and find out what it is."

"I hate waiting," she muttered.

He smiled briefly. "If they come back, see what they want." He turned to address everyone else, raising his voice just enough to be heard to the far side of the room. "This is a possible first contact situation. We need to be patient until they reveal their intentions and who they are. I don't want them scared off. Understood?" He waited until he saw a bunch of agreement. "Good. I'll go ask around - maybe one of the League members can identify it."

She nodded. "I hope it's just someone who got lost. But, Commander," she lowered her voice, "I don't think we're going to be that lucky."

She expected him to reassure her, but instead he lifted his head and flicked a look out the main window, answering, "No. They'll be back. It's a little ship, but I have a feeling it represents something much bigger." For a moment, he watched the ships out there -- a passenger liner out of Proxima, a Narn freight vessel, and a Drazi corvette approaching docking -- before facing her again. "Leave a standing order that to call me the moment they show up again."

"Of course, sir. Even if you're in Council?" she asked.

" _Especially_ if I'm in Council," he confirmed, rather wickedly, and she chuckled.

* * *

### Chapter One

" _Unknown vessel, this is Earth Station Babylon Five."_

Kara had already heard the recording, though she found a second time hadn't taken much of the thrill out of it. Earth. 

Roslin leaned back in her chair, and she had that soft, but radiant smile on her face. She glanced at Tory, who grinned back, and then across her desk at the Admiral. "Earth." Her voice caressed the word, like she was dipping it in cream. "I'll want to congratulate your pilots in person, Admiral. This is a great day for the Colonies."

Adama nodded, looking far more somber. "Maybe. They said 'Earth Station.' It's a space station, not Earth itself. Earth must be some ways distant, since the star field doesn't match the one from Kobol. Also, the tonnage of that station suggests people live there. I think we had better send some small scouting mission before announcing the discovery more widely, Madam President. If it turns out that this station is the last remnant of Earth, we'll have ... a problem in the fleet."

Kara almost smiled at the understatement. Yeah, the fleet would have a problem if their hoped-for place of refuge got pulled out from under them again.

Roslin mulled that over a moment, nodded, and asked, "You have a plan?"

"Recon," he answered briefly. "We send a Raptor with a team to go aboard that station, assess the situation, and get in contact with its leadership. Captain Thrace has already volunteered and will be in command." He nodded at her, his gaze warm with approval.

She addressed Roslin, "I was planning to take a team of four plus myself. I'll pilot and we'll all go in civilian clothes. We don't want them to feel threatened."

"But this team would be military?" Roslin asked. Her tone was simply curious, but Kara had the distinct impression that she wasn't in favor of the idea.

Still, she nodded sharply. "Yes, ma'am. Lieutenant Gaeta and three marines." Gaeta had been the admiral's idea -- they might need someone with electronics and computing expertise. Gaeta was one of the few other officers who could pass for civilian. She'd rather go with Helo, but the thought of him on an undercover mission was ridiculous. She'd considered Athena, but the fact was that they had no idea if these people had met Cylons yet. If they had, it might be hard to explain that Athena was with them.

Roslin said, "Lieutenant Gaeta of course. But Admiral, I want at least one civilian that I will deputize as my spokesperson for negotiations. If this group does, in fact, manage to contact the Earth Station leadership, it will need presidential authority."

Adama frowned slightly, and Kara grimaced. That was a polite way to kick her in the teeth, denying her that presidential authority. Then she shrugged, inwardly. She wasn't a terribly diplomatic person, that was true enough.

"Do you have anyone in mind?" Adama asked.

Kara braced herself for Roslin to say Tory, or Zarek, and was taken by surprise when Roslin glanced at her again, "Captain? What about Sam? Do you think he would agree?"

Sam? Her P-ball player as a diplomat? And his was the _first_ name Roslin came up with? Where the frak had that come from?

Not that it was a bad idea, she realized, once the shock faded. He was a hell of a lot more diplomatic and patient than she could muster on a good day, for one thing. But he was also good in a fight, if it came to that, and there weren't too many other people she would trust absolutely to watch her back.

It occurred to her that if he went, they'd have to be in close quarters for awhile. That meant talking. Gods. Her stomach churned with jitters. She wanted to say no.

But under Adama and Roslin's eyes she couldn't exactly admit that she and Sam were having a problem -- a problem entirely of her own making, no less. Frak.

But that had nothing to do with whether Sam would or could do the job. She forced herself to nod. "Yes, ma'am. The idea didn't occur to me, but I think he'd be glad to help out." 

Roslin smiled. "Good. Send him to see me, Captain Thrace, and I'll explain his duties."

Kara didn't try to protest that Sam wasn't on _Galactica_ ; she'd go fetch him in a Raptor herself, if she had to. "Yes, ma'am."

* * *

"You want me to go negotiate for you?" Sam stared at Roslin, wondering if being president again had made her crazy. Kara hadn't seen fit to warn him what Roslin wanted, and now he knew why. "I'm no diplomat."

"I don't have any diplomats, Sam," she folded her hands and looked across the desk at him. "And even if I did, I'm not sure I'd send one on this trip. You'll be starting out with covert recon, and I know you can handle yourself doing that. You'll only have to negotiate if everything checks out."

"I'm a pyramid player," he protested, and it sounded feeble even to his own ears.

She smiled a little, kindly, "Yes. But I know that's not all you are." Their eyes met, and he knew she was thinking of the Resistance. They'd plotted together, and she'd helped him handle Kara's disappearance and Tigh's extremism. "I trust you," she added, more softly. "I trust you to do the right thing for the fleet, not try to take advantage of it for yourself. You can keep your head in strange circumstances, you're smarter than you let on, and you've got charisma when you want to use it."

"Thank you," he said automatically, and her smile widened.

"I'm not flattering you," she said. "I need you. And I suspect you equally need something to do. So here's my proposition: I will appoint you as my secretary of state, and you go to this Earth Station. If you reach the leaders of the station, you'll have that official authority to negotiate on our behalf and use your discretion to tell them what they need to know. If all goes well, I would like to have direct negotiations, hopefully between myself and their leader for resettlement of our people on Earth or some other place if that's unavailable. But you will report directly to me; and in all but a full military conflict developing, you'll lead this delegation. What do you say?"

His brain had gotten stuck at "secretary of state". From captain of the second-worst team in the Colonial League to Secretary of State in three years. Kara was going to laugh. Hell, he wanted to laugh. But what else _could_ he say? "I'm still not sure I'm a good choice, but I accept. I'll do my best."

"And I'm sure your best will very good indeed." 

The faith was flattering, if also anxiety-provoking because, Gods, if he frakked this up, he was frakking up the entire fleet. The last 40,000 humans in the galaxy.

 _Just another off-balance, at-the-buzzer shot for the win, Anders,_ he told himself and tried very hard to believe it as he listened to Roslin outline his new duties.

* * *

The Raptor wasn't that crowded with only five, but Kara had her own seat in the front and she was just as glad. Sam was back there, with Barolay and Hot Dog, and Gaeta sat at the ECO station. Her original plan hadn't included either Barolay or Costanza, but Costanza had been awake in his rack while she and Sam were discussing the mission and he'd volunteered. Kara had known they'd need a second pilot, since Gaeta had little time in flight, and she'd given in more for Hot Dog's open-mindedness toward Sharon than anything else. If they ran into aliens, an open mind and enthusiasm would go a lot farther than some of the other marines' greater expertise. 

And Barolay.... Kara grimaced at the controls. Sam had been right, that Sergeant Mathias couldn't pass for a civilian. He'd also been right to insist on someone on his team who knew how he worked. But did it have to be Barolay? 

The two of them were entertaining Hot Dog with the story of the Cylon attack on the frakkin' algae planet. Kara's ears perked up since neither Sam nor Lee had talked much about what had happened and she turned to watch and listen.

"And then Apollo pulled the pin and threw it to Anders," Barolay said, "and he threw it like he was making goal." She snickered.

"Cylons go boom," Sam added, sounding very satisfied with himself.

"And then?" Hot Dog prompted.

Barolay and Sam shared a glance and Sam forced a grin. "Then another squad of chrome jobs showed up and we scrambled back to the temple. I ran out of ammo, Jean threw me her extra clip, though I have no idea where she was keeping it..." He nudged her with his elbow.

She shoved back. "I don't waste my shots like some people, I know."

Sam taunted, "Oh sure. That was why you threw that airball against Picon?"

"If you want to catalogue screwups, Mister "I can't even manage to score on a red flag penalty play", try me," she retorted.

"Okay, okay," he held up his hands. "Truce? What the frak was I thinking to have two of you along who can throw all my stupid plays back in my face?"

"You're just that smart, apparently," Kara teased. And didn't miss how Jean's gaze narrowed at her. Apparently Kara had lost her right to tease him, according to Miz Barolay. Protective bitch.

He sighed, the playfulness gone from his expression, and he looked doubtful. "This was Roslin's idea, not mine."

"You'll do fine," Barolay said, and slapped his knee. "It can't be that different from all those interviews you had to do when we lost against frakkin' _Virgon_."

Sam groaned. "Thank you very much for the reminder. Gods, it was like a pack of wild dogs after me."

"I watched that game," Gaeta offered unexpectedly. "I'm not a big Pyramid fan, but I saw that one. It was a good one."

"Except they lost." Kara would have said more, but her console beeped, and she saw that they were now in range to replicate Racetrack's jump. "Everybody get ready," she called. "Jump in five... four... three... two... one."

She pulled the lever and the disorientation of the jump washed through her. Some people got sick, but she'd always enjoyed the rush zinging through her nerves.

And then, they were back in real space. "Gaeta, any dradis contacts?" 

Everyone seemed to tense, until he reported, "No hostile contacts. The station and ships around it are where Racetrack and Skulls reported."

Sam came forward to stand behind her chair.

"Can we see it?" he asked.

Very aware of his hands brushing her shoulders, she answered, "Not yet." She oriented the ship and the brown arc of the planet filled the window. "That's the planet and the station is at the LaGrange point between it and its moon. Let's go take a look."

She put the Raptor into a heading for the station. It was just barely visible as a non-starlike gleam ahead of them when the wireless crackled. This time it was a female voice, " _Unidentified ship, you are on course for Babylon Five. Do you intend to enter the docking queue?"_

Kara glanced up at Sam. "So, Mr. Secretary," she couldn't help a smile tugging her lips calling him that, "what should we do?"

His expression said, _smart-ass,_ but he answered, "Go ahead."

She opened the channel back to the station, "Babylon Five, this is Raptor One. Yes, we'd like docking clearance."

_"Stand by."_

She shrugged. "Well, they sound exactly like the old Caprica spaceflight control. I guess that's a good sign."

"They've been scanning us since we arrived," Gaeta added. "They probably can tell we're unarmed." 

"Even if we had guns, how could we be a threat to that thing?" Hot Dog asked, crowding in next to Sam. "It's huge."

It was. In front of her cockpit window, it was far bigger than anything Kara had seen in space, except maybe the Scorpia shipyards. They drew closer to the station and more of its detail started to show -- it was rotating around the long axis, which Kara thought was interesting. The aliens or Earth humans didn't have AG. The station had large arrays for heat dispersal and solar collection that looked like stubby wings. There were some very large ships and some smaller ones parked around it, but not the interesting aquatic-looking one that Racetrack had seen.

The voice came back _. "Raptor One, Babylon Five Control. Do you need an environment setting other than Earth-Standard?"_

Kara frowned in puzzlement.

"They're asking if the gravity and air mix of Earth work for us," Gaeta explained. "They don't know we're human."

"Oh right," she toggled the send key. "We're human, Babylon Five Control. Earth Standard is perfectly fine."

She grinned, thrilling to the sound of "Earth Standard."

After another lag, the woman replied, "Raptor One _, you are assigned to docking bay two. Hold at your current position until we give the all clear to approach."_

She answered back, "Confirmed, Babylon Five Control." And she neatly reversed the Raptor into a stationary position to wait.

"The entire aft third of that station is one giant fusion reactor," Gaeta reported. "Capable of more than three times _Galactica_ 's power grid, _and_ far more than the station itself is using at the moment."

She turned around, "Weapons?"

"Definitely. I'm reading multiple weapons platforms and what are probably gun ports. There are also launch bays for something the size of our vipers."

"It's heavily armed then." She raised her brows and looked up at Sam again. "Not exactly the utopia we'd hoped."

He was watching the station through the window. They were close enough it filled most of the canopy. "I don't know..." he said slowly. "Not utopia, no. But... Those ships don't look like they were designed by the same race, Kara. Some of them are clunky, some are round, and that one -- " he pointed to one whose proportions looked all _off_ , "it's just weird."

"Yeah," she said. "So? We suspected there might be aliens."

He looked down at her, with a sudden smile. "They're not shooting at each other. Maybe their wars are in the past, just like ours between the colonies."

Barolay had joined them, looking out at the station, and she said quietly, "And we might be bringing the Cylons right to them. They might not thank us for that."

"But if we could get them to help us, the Cylons couldn't fight all those people," Costanza waved his arm toward the station and the ships all around them. "Right?"

Sam nodded. "Right. That means we need to ally ourselves with these people to get a place for our people to live, and to find some friends against the Cylons. And not screw up and make them our enemies. I'm so glad there's no pressure then," he added dryly, and everyone laughed.

* * *

(tbc...)


	2. Welcome to Babylon 5

The lights of the room focused only on her chamber, leaving all the rest in darkness. Number Two, sometimes known as Leoben, heard the low hum from the machinery, and the soft thump of the heart of the ship. Her constant whispering was just another background noise to the others, but not to him. She could see all the tapestry of times to come, and sometimes she could share it with him.

The Hybrid was his oracle, and from her, he would learn if the pattern he saw was true portent, or only illusion.

He knelt beside her, looking into her face. He said nothing, as her eyes looked past the confines of her pool and her mind sailed beyond this ship.

Then very gently he placed his fingers on the back of her hand. 

She twitched and her gaze snapped to focus on him. Her sudden desperation took him off guard, in those eyes that seemed so human but saw infinity.

The words tumbled from her: 

" _The storm rises shadows gather night falls what was comes again end of line_

_all that was all that is giants walking time swirls changes unbroken circle end of line_

_broken stars burn planets dust war death death death end of life_." 

Her hand turned in his, gripping his tightly as she stared into his eyes, willing him to understand.

With frightening lucidity, she whispered, " _They are coming_."

The words hit like a blow. He knew what they meant, and they were exactly what he had feared. He bent his head, and he murmured, "All this happened before, it will-- "

She interrupted, momentarily fierce as a goddess with her eyes blazing, determined to give him one last truth. " _It will happen now_."

Her hand slipped from his, as her gaze once more turned blank and distant. He stayed beside her as she interfaced between the ship and the stars.

* * *

As Kara piloted them toward the docking bay entrance, Sam watched as the station grew larger, dwarfing their little ship. His stomach felt tight, as the metal skin of the station and the windows came into focus and the great maw of the entrance seemed to open like a mouth to swallow them whole.

Kara seemed to be feeling some of the same thing, hesitating when the station requested that she surrender control of the ship. He put a hand on her shoulder and she glanced up at him, worrying her lip with her teeth, then turned forward and shut down the engines. "Here we go," she murmured, and the Raptor trembled as the magnetic grapples took hold and pulled them inside.

He tried to tell himself that this was not much different from coming to land on _Galactica_. But his gut told him that was a lie.

He kept a hand on Kara's shoulder as the Raptor floated through the tunnel and past bulkhead doors until the ship paused, and a pair of big doors opened like a giant tooth-filled mouth. They were drawn inside a metal cave with bright lights focused on a landing platform.

They landed with a little bounce and a thump. Kara snorted, "Clumsy." Brendan chuckled, but everyone else was too tense to speak.

The front window fogged up, and Felix reported what Sam already guessed, "Repressurizing underway. Thirty seconds."

"We're here, now what?" Jean asked. "Sam?"

"We play it like we planned." He leaned down and murmured in Kara's ear, "No guns."

"You sure know how to ruin a girl's day," she retorted, with a quick grin, and stood up. "Gaeta, we good to go?"

Felix glanced as his display. "Full atmosphere. We're ready." 

Brendan was nearest the hatch control. "Should I?" At Sam's nod, he punched the ramp and the door opened. Brendan was first down the ramp, and the others followed.

Sam braced himself automatically, but the air was fine, if cold enough to make their breath puff.

A door opening on the far side of the landing platform caught his eye, and then two people came through. Sam exchanged a glance with Kara, seeing his own excitement reflected in her eyes. They looked human.

They were wearing tan coveralls, looking so similar to the deck crew on _Galactica_ it was almost painful. One approached. "Have any cargo you need unloading?" she asked.

"No," Sam answered, "Just us. Thank you."

"No problem," she said and turned away. 

"Uh, excuse me," he called after her. "Where are you from?"

She frowned. "Proxima. Why?"

"Do you know anyone from Earth?" he asked, trying not to show how important the question was to them, even though he and his four teammates were hanging on the answer.

"Well, sure," she answered with a puzzled smile. "Johnny over there, for one." She jerked her thumb at her young companion by the door.

So Earth still existed, that was a good thing to know. He wanted to ask more questions, but figured it would start looking suspicious.

He thanked her again and they followed the cargo handlers through the smaller airlock and into a corridor. The corridor was marked with signs in several languages, but one sign said clearly, "Station Entry" with an arrow pointing left.

Kara paced him, with Brendan and Felix in the middle, and Jean bringing up the rear.

He glanced back and chuckled. "Civilians, remember? We're not supposed to look like a marine squadron. C'mon, try to look a little less grim, people."

He took Kara's hand, and though she gave him a look, she left it there.

The group made the turn through an open doorway and into a large space that Sam had no trouble identifying as a customs or security area -- it had high ceilings, an obvious armed security presence, and two lines for passengers to go through checkpoints. Beyond the checkpoints there was a reception area with seats and many signs, most in languages he couldn't read.

"Lords of Kobol," he heard Jean whisper, and turned to see what she was looking at.

Coming from the opposite corridor that fed into this area, were a handful of ... aliens. They looked sort of human and wore clothes, but they had hairless spotted skin like lizards and bright red eyes. One of them was laughing uproariously at something one of his companions had said.

There was another group of different aliens already in line. These were pale with some sort of horns covering most of their bald heads. Once he started looking he realized there were a handful of other aliens scattered about, all vaguely human-shaped with two arms, two legs and a head on top, but that was where the similarity ended.

He felt suddenly dizzy and gripped Kara's hand tightly, reaching for normal when there was nothing else normal. What the frak was he doing here?

She squeezed back, murmuring, "At least they're not Cylons."

He snorted a laugh and felt a little better as he led the way to the line that was marked for Earth Alliance citizens.

* * *

Sitting in his chair in the security office, Garibaldi watched on the monitors as the strangers disembarked from their "Raptor." 

Standing next to him, Sinclair made a soft sound as the camera focused on the five people. "They look human."

"You sound disappointed, Commander," Garibaldi turned his head to look up. 

"I was hoping for something a little more... interesting," Sinclair admitted. 

Garibaldi inwardly shook his head. Jeff Sinclair was the only human he knew who wasn't terrified by the idea of First Contact. He _enjoyed_ it, despite how terribly first contact with the Minbari had gone. But then, Garibaldi had known Sinclair had an odd sense of fun for a long time. 

"That ship is still from some unidentified shipyard, and it's not running an IFF we recognize. Maybe they're aliens in disguise," Garibaldi teased. 

Sinclair's mouth twitched into a smile, but didn't buy it. "I think you can take it from here, Michael. Let me know what you find out." 

He left, and so he missed the strangers' startlement at the sight of the Narns and Minbari in the arrival hall. Garibaldi felt a little prickle at the back of his neck. It was conceivable a bunch of humans had never seen a Narn before, but Minbari? They were old enough to remember the war. It didn't seem like hatred or resentment -- after the surprise passed, the group ignored the Minbari, all except the youngest man who was staring with unabashed curiosity.

Garibaldi made his way down to the hall, hovering in earshot of Perkins who was manning the station.

He had a good look at the strangers. They were all hyper-alert, which made him nervous. The couple holding hands was clearly in charge. The blonde woman called the gaping youngest back into line with a soft but sharp, "Costanza."

He stiffened to attention and nodded, sliding back into place behind her.

And then they were next, and moved in front of Perkins' desk.

Perkins held out his hand. "Identicards please."

Garibaldi wasn't surprised to hear the leader answer, "We don't have any. They were lost. In an accident."

Perkins nodded and followed procedure, knowing full well that Garibaldi was only a few steps away, "Name and place of birth?"

He hesitated slightly and answered, with a tiny shrug, "Samuel Anders. Kara Thrace. Jean Barolay. Felix Gaeta. And Brendan Costanza. We're all from... Proxima." Garibaldi almost smiled at the obvious lie.

Perkins diligently entered all the information, had each of them put their hands on the reader for the prints and look into the retinal scanner, and then told them, "It'll take a few minutes to process your information. You'll need to wait in the holding area."

Garibaldi took that as his cue and moved up. "Perkins, I'll take it from here."

Perkins looked a little startled, but then he didn't know about the strange ship these people had arrived on. "Sure, Chief."

"Michael Garibaldi, chief of security," he introduced himself. "You folks came in on that 'Raptor', right?"

"That's right," Thrace answered, the tilt of her chin a little aggressive. "Why? Did we do something wrong?"

"No, not at all," Garibaldi answered. "Babylon Five is an open port. But we do require some verification that you're not wanted criminals. So, as Perkins said, you'll need to wait in holding until we can process your identity and issue new identicards for you."

He didn't miss Thrace and Anders exchanging another look. Maybe they were fugitives. Fugitives were all desperate, and desperate people were dangerous people. He waved Marcham and Stensi to form up on them. "This way. Please."

"Of course," Anders said. "We understand. We'll go quietly." That seemed to be as much for the people with him as Garibaldi. "We're not here to make trouble."

"Good. Troublemakers make me cranky," Garibaldi advised him and led the way out.

The group followed tamely to security central, looking around at everything with great interest.

"You can all wait here," he waved them inside the large interrogation room. "Until your identities come in."

Thrace made an aggravated sound. "Look, let's just cut to it, okay? It's going to be a waste of time. We don't have identities from your government. We're not from here."

"Kara," Anders said, in exasperation.

"Sam, I know this is supposed to be your show, but he knows we're not from Proxima, wherever that is. He asked about the Raptor. Is it that different from your ships?" she asked Garibaldi.

He took a moment to answer, surprised she was admitting that they'd just lied to a security officer. "No, not that different. But different enough. So where are you from, really?"

"The Twelve Colonies of Kobol," Anders answered, like it was supposed to mean something.

"Never heard of it. Are you really human?" he asked.

They all looked briefly surprised at the question. "Yes. Though we've been separate from the Thirteenth Tribe a long time. Earth is from our legends. We weren't even sure it was real," Anders said.

Garibaldi managed a chuckle, "Oh, it's certainly real. Well, come sit down and we'll get to the bottom of this."

The missing colony story _again_? Did people never learn? 

Garibaldi shook his head inwardly and set himself to finding out the truth.

* * *

Sam was getting frustrated, and he knew when he was feeling it, Kara was probably only a step away from hitting things.

"I don't know how many times and in how many ways I can say it," he said, trying to keep a leash on his tone. "We're from the Twelve Colonies. According to our own legends the Lords of Kobol brought us there about four thousand of our years ago. A thirteenth tribe went to Earth. We've been trying to find out if the legend is true. So when the pilot of the other Raptor heard the station was connected to Earth, we had to see if it was true."

"All right. Where are these Twelve Colonies?" Garibaldi asked.

"I don't know," Sam answered. "Anyone?" he directed the question at the others. Barolay shrugged, but then he didn't figure that she knew anyway.

Kara shook her head, "No, but I bet we could figure it out. Gaeta?"

Felix nodded, and spoke to Garibaldi, "As long as you can show us where we are right now, I think we can figure out the approximate location."

Garibaldi blinked, looking surprised by the offer. "All right." He looked at the mirrored glass observation window. "Bring a map."

A moment later one of the guards came in with a large sheet of paper with a simplified map of the entire galaxy on it. Garibaldi pointed to a small green dot on one of the arms. "This is Babylon 5."

He stayed silent while Kara and Felix examined the map. "We're here," she put a finger on the green dot. "Galactic center is here." 

Felix rotated the map around and stopped it with his finger. "Galactic north is here. So the Colonies were, somewhere, around here." He put his hand flat on a section of the map and Kara nodded her agreement.

Garibaldi stood up and peered at where they had indicated. "You sure about that?" he asked, and Sam got a chill. There was something wrong with that answer.

Felix had to know it as well, but he stood straight and answered, "Yes. Without a better map, I can't say where within that area, but I’ve plotted enough jumps to know it’s in there. I'm sure."

"That's far away," Garibaldi answered, his sheer neutrality giving away that, for some reason, he didn't believe it at all.

Sam decided he'd better hurry up and take his shot, before no one listened to them at all. "Mister Garibaldi, I'm the duly appointed Secretary of State to President Roslin of the Twelve Colonies."

"Oh, you are? Now you tell me this?" Garibaldi asked, looking skeptical.

Sam explained, and he could see the others relax as he relieved them of the burden of keeping their mouths shut, "We were supposed to come check things out. Blend in. Obviously that's not going to work. So I'm skipping straight to the rest of our mission. I need to speak to your commander, whoever is in charge here. You're right; the Colonies are very far from here. But we've not seen them in more than a year, because the Colonies don't exist anymore. We're refugees."

"Our fleet has only forty thousand people, all that's left of billions," Brendan added, sounding so earnest Sam couldn't believe he'd been in a war all this time. "We're not here to attack you, we're here to find a new home."

"You have forty thousand people somewhere?" Garibaldi asked. "Where?"

Sam held up a hand to keep the others from blabbing it out. "I'm not saying until I get a chance to speak with your commander."

Garibaldi gave nothing away. "I'll pass along your request." He gathered up the map. "It's dinner time. I'll have food brought to you. Don't go anywhere."

He left and Jean rolled her eyes. "Right. Like we're going to run away with our ship impounded."

"I wonder why he didn't believe us about the Colonies," Felix said, frowning. "I don't believe Earth is on the other side of the galaxy from here. Relatively speaking we didn't point to anywhere that far away."

"I think he just doesn't believe us about anything," Kara grumped. "At least they're going to feed us."

She got up to prowl around the room again restlessly, and Sam caught her hand and pulled her back to sit on his lap. "C'mere. Maybe we'll get to talk to his boss."

"And if we don't?" she asked. "If they're going to slap us in jail because they can't figure out who and what we are?"

He pulled her down to kiss and whispered in her ear, "Then we get dangerous."

The gleam in her eyes turned eager. "Now you're talking."

He put a finger across her lips, pulling away when she nipped at it. "Patience." He looked at the others and repeated, "That goes for us all. Patience. We know we're telling the truth, but getting through their suspicions is going to take time."

But even his patience wasn't infinite. 

* * *

Sinclair muted the ISN anchorperson when Garibaldi came in. 

"Anything on the Mars situation?" Garibaldi asked, nodding toward the screen, before sitting down in the chair across the desk.

"Nothing new." They exchanged a troubled look, but Sinclair didn't want to think about what the lack of news meant and changed the subject. "What about our guests?"

Garibaldi leaned back in his chair, stretching out his legs. "Well, they're claiming to be from a lost colony. And I can't shake 'em from that."

"You'd think after the Centauri tried it, people would figure out that it doesn't work. Any hits on their records?"

He shook his head. "Nothing. The good news is they're not in the wanted database. So I don't think they're fugitives. The bad news is it's going to take at least twelve hours to get word back from Earth Central. Assuming it's in there." He shrugged. "A lot of records got fragged in the war. Hopefully I'll get at least one hit."

Sinclair waited a moment, sensing there was more to this report. So far there was nothing that Garibaldi couldn't have linked in to tell him. "And?"

"They call their lost colony the "Twelve Colonies of Kobol." That ring any bells to you?"

Sinclair thought about it for a moment and had to shake his head. "No. Did you do a search on it?"

"I did. Came up empty. Except for one thing -- " he stood up and with a perfunctory glance for permission, ordered, "Computer, display galactic map, color-coding the major territories."

Garibaldi pointed to the middle of the yellow. "They said their Colonies are there."

Sinclair lifted his brows in surprise. "Vorlon space?"

"And they didn't back down. Now, that's either the cleverest story I can imagine or the stupidest. Everybody knows the Vorlons don't let anybody in their territory."

"But it doesn't necessarily follow there can't have been humans there for a long time," Sinclair mused, more seriously wondering if this could be true. "The Vorlons are an old race. Delenn says they were spacefaring millions of years ago. Who's to say they didn't move a group of humans from Earth and seed them somewhere? Old legends often have a root of truth to them someplace."

He knew exactly what he was going to have to do to find out if it was true.

Garibaldi added, "Well, apparently the colonies don't exist anymore. Some kind of cataclysm. But there are forty thousand refugees in a fleet not too far from us. Supposedly."

 _"Forty-thousand_?" He glared at the chief. "Michael, you couldn't have _led_ with the massive fleet?"

Garibaldi shrugged and looked very unrepentant at his little joke. "I've no idea if it's true. The tall one? Anders? He claimed to be their secretary of state and won't say more 'til he talks to you."

"Then I'd better talk to him. After I talk to Kosh." Hauling in a breath, Sinclair stood up. "Unfortunately he's probably the only one who can confirm their story. I'll go visit and see what he says." And with any luck he would understand the answer. The Vorlon Ambassador was known for being cryptic to the point of obtuseness, when he spoke at all. 

With cheerful sarcasm, Garibaldi bid him, "Have fun." He led the way out the door. "I'll be back in central. Link in if you need me."

On the way to the alien sector, Sinclair framed his question carefully. Too open ended and he risked a nonsensical answer, and too closed and the answer was likely to be too pithy to be helpful.

He entered the airlock and announced, "Commander Sinclair requesting to see Ambassador Kosh."

There was a moment he thought Kosh might refuse, but then the access to the breathing masks opened and he knew he would be allowed in. He fit the mask over his face and waited as the air shifted composition to the methane compound that Kosh breathed. The inner airlock door opened.

He had never gone past the small antechamber on the other side of the airlock door. There was a translucent screen before him and a bright light behind it, glimmering through the fog of the heavy atmosphere. Kosh's massive encounter suit stood empty and dark to one side.

Sinclair was not convinced Kosh needed any of it. The Vorlons liked their privacy and their mystery to an obsessive degree.

He addressed the wall in front of him, his voice coming out from the mask flat and breathy. "Ambassador, five humans have come to the station. They claim to be from a place called the Twelve Colonies of Kobol, and they have identified this place as being within Vorlon territory. What can you tell me about these Twelve Colonies?"

There was no response. 

He waited at least a minute, but apparently there was nothing Kosh could or would tell him about the Twelve Colonies. He tried a different question. "Can you confirm the existence of this lost colony of Earth? I want to know if I can believe them or not. If their story's true, I'd like to help them. But if I can't confirm there really was such a place, then they're just Earth Alliance citizens without proper identification and there's not much I can do."

There was a long pause and then a whooshing sound. Sinclair tried to watch, but there seemed to be no transition: one moment the encounter suit was empty and the next it was occupied. The lights flashed on the translator device and the mechanical voice said:

" _The children come home_."

Not exactly an answer that Earth Dome would like, but he felt he understood. "So it's true. Thank you, Ambassador." He bowed his head and turned to go.

" _Sinclair_."

Surprised, he turned back. "Yes?"

 _"The circle closes. Be ready."_

Sinclair took a step closer, despite himself. "For what?"

" _All this happened before, and it will happen again."_

It was on the tip of his tongue to ask Kosh what he meant, but memory flashed of a strange alien named Zathras pinned under a fallen beam on the time-lost Babylon Four, saying he had a destiny.

He had rejected that, almost automatically. He believed in free will, not predestination. But there, standing before a Vorlon, he remembered being a prisoner on the Minbari flagship at the Battle of the Line, seeing Delenn's face. They had held him and they'd wiped his memory of it, until it had come back this year.

But now he knew. He was somehow connected to the Minbari surrender.

Because of him? Because of something he was? Because of something he was supposed to do? Because he had a destiny?

Fear was suddenly an ice block, stopping his breath. He could only look at Kosh's suit, toward the top where the vision iris was and presumably Kosh's head somewhere behind it.

"Ambassador, what _is_ my destiny?" he asked, afraid of the answer and just as afraid there wouldn't be one.

For the longest moment, there wasn't.

Then the cold, ominous mechanical translator said, " _Into fire. Storm. Darkness. Death."_

Sinclair took a step back, away, a sense of sheer panic rising in his throat, strangling him. All he could think was that asking had been a terrible mistake.

Kosh ordered, " _Go._ "

Sinclair was just as glad to obey. He put the mask back in its cabinet with shaking hands, and went out into the corridor, feeling that the gravity was all wrong.

He leaned against the solidity of the wall gratefully and closed his eyes, taking careful breaths and trying to calm down.

It didn't change anything, he told himself. The cryptic Vorlon prophecy had any number of possible meanings, none of which made any difference to his life, right now.

No, right now, he had some visitors to meet and a job to do. Prophecy would have to take care of itself.

* * *

On the other side of the wall, the Vorlon Ambassador listened to Sinclair's thoughts. He was not yet ready, but soon.

Then he reached out to gently brush the minds of the children who had come home.

Such sorrow. Such pain.

He mourned for them. But there had been no choice. 

They would lead the way.

* * *

(tbc...)


	3. A Gentle Interrogation

Sam had no idea what dinner was, some sort of sauce over pasta with bread and a side of an unfamiliar vegetable. But he didn't care what it was. It wasn't reconstituted algae, and was possibly the best food Sam had eaten since the fall of Caprica. He was pleased to see the others eating with good appetite too, at least until Brendan and Jean grabbed the last piece of bread and threatened to tussle over it.

"Kids, share," he teased. "Let's not make our hosts think the colonies have no manners." Jean let go and Brendan ripped the piece in half and gave it to her.

The door opened, and Sam glanced up to see Garibaldi. He beckoned Sam up. "You get your wish. The commander's on his way. Let's go."

Kara stood up with him, but Garibaldi fixed a look on her. "Just him."

She was looking balky, so he touched her hand, "I'll be back soon."

"You better," she threatened and sat back at the table to play with two forks rather ominously.

"Good luck," Gaeta wished him, and the others echoed it as Sam went out into the corridor.

They went only a little ways down the corridor and through an open door into a room much smaller than the conference one his team was occupying. The only furniture was a small table with four chairs, and a computer screen embedded in the wall.

There was a man standing before the screen, frowning at it, even though it was blank. He was wearing a blue uniform reminiscent of Colonial Fleet one, and he was only a little shorter than Sam. His dark hair was starting to silver at the temples, and when he faced the door, his face was one comfortable with somber reflection, with deep-set but penetrating eyes beneath heavy brows.

Garibaldi introduced them, "Commander Jeffrey Sinclair, the CO of the station. And Samuel Anders."

To his surprise, Sinclair offered his hand. "I don't know if this is your custom --"

Sam took two steps closer to clasp his hand. "Yes, it is."

They shook hands and Sinclair sat in the nearest chair. "Have a seat, Mister Anders. We have a lot to talk about."

“I’ll be outside,” Garibaldi said and left the room. Sam suspected he was still going to be able to hear and see everything, since this seemed a part of the security area and surely they wouldn't allow a stranger to be unmonitored with the commander. 

Sam took the seat across from Sinclair. For a long moment, Sinclair looked at him. Sam didn't quite know how to take the regard. He didn't seem hostile or fearful, but in spite of what he said, he didn't talk right away.

"We really are from the Twelve Colonies," Sam offered, knowing his words were no kind of proof.

"I believe you," Sinclair said, to Sam's astonishment. "I got confirmation of their existence from the Vorlons."

"Vorlons?" Sam repeated curiously.

"You don't know them? That's interesting, because they know you. They're a very ancient race. You indicated your colonies were inside their territory, and when I spoke to Ambassador Kosh he admitted it." Sinclair paused, as though to give Sam a chance to explain, but Sam was just confused. How could the Colonies be in some aliens’ space and the Colonies not know about the aliens? He gave a shrug and shook his head a little.

"I don't know all the old histories or scriptures, but I've never heard of them."

Sinclair did not look surprised by that; he just nodded and explained, "The Vorlons are highly secretive and very advanced. Your people might not even know they've been visited. Though Vorlon intervention might at least explain what humans were doing on planets a long way from Earth." Before Sam could say anything about the Lords of Kobol, Sinclair shook his head once, shelving the topic, and continued briskly, "Well, I suppose this isn't exactly the time to unravel your history, though I have to admit I'm very curious. You have more urgent problems to discuss. You said you were refugees, and I need to know more. I haven't given my report to my superiors yet, but I know they're going to be interested in numbers. As in, how many refugees are there and how many ships?"

Relieved by the turn back to practical concerns, Sam answered, "About forty thousand, including children, spread out on thirty ships of different sizes."

"And what happened to your Colonies?"

Sam was going to answer "Cylons", and then reconsidered. He remembered Jean saying how these people might not be too happy to know the fleet had brought them a new enemy. "We were attacked. We don't know why. But they came and nuked everything." He felt queasy at the reminder and wished he hadn't eaten so much. Anti-rad meds were almost as nausea-inducing as the radiation itself.

He continued, "Everyone who could escape, did, in little vacation boats and cargo ships, and even one prison ship. They all gathered together and jumped to hyperspace. That was almost three years ago -- we've been running, trying to survive ever since. And looking for Earth."

Sam looked at Sinclair steadily, hoping he didn't see the half-truth about the attacks. But until he had a better idea what Earth Alliance might do if they found out about the Cylons, he thought he'd better hold it back.

The commander nodded once, not taking his gaze from Sam. But he didn't call Sam a liar, so after a moment, Sam relaxed.

"It hardly seems adequate, but you have my sympathies," Sinclair said. "Ten years ago we faced our own invasion and the end of our people. We were..." he paused, and finished with a small grimace, "... lucky. It's a tragedy that you weren't."

"Invasion?" Sam asked, his stomach clenching in sudden anxiety. What if the Cylons were already here? "Earth was attacked?"

"The Minbari," Sinclair answered. He glanced away from Sam, who realized during the tale that it was something Sinclair had lived through. "First contact went very badly wrong. They took offense, and declared holy war on us. Their technological advantage was too great and they pushed us all the way back to Earth."

"And then?" Sam prompted, when Sinclair didn't seem inclined to finish.

"And then they stopped. No one's sure why. Maybe they made their point," Sinclair answered. He didn't sound as though he believed it. After a moment's hesitation, he added, with a flicker of a smile, "We get along much better today, thank God."

Sam couldn't help the reflexive stiffening at the singular deity. Cylons had a God; humans didn't. Sinclair caught it, flaring his eyebrows a trifle. "Something, Mister Anders?"

He dampened his lips. "We, uh, have several gods. "God" sounds wrong to me."

"There are several religions of Earth with multiple deities," he assured Sam. "One of our founding tenents is freedom of worship. You are free to worship any deity or deities you choose in your own way. Or none at all, if you want." He eased back in his chair with a rueful look. "I have to admit we learned some very hard lessons about tolerance over our history."

"Oh," Sam said, trying to process the concept of 'several' religions with their own gods. "I see. How many Humans are there in the Earth Alliance?" he asked.

"Eleven billion, give or take," Sinclair answered. "Most are still on Earth, but we have several colonies outside the system as well, particularly the large settlements on Proxima and Orion. Don't worry; we'll find a place for your people," he reassured Sam.

Sam nodded, finding that he believed Sinclair. "I hope so," he said. "We've been looking for a new home for what seems like a very long time now."

"You'll get one," Sinclair said. "But first, I need all five of you to agree to a medical exam and a blood sample."

"To prove we're human?" Sam guessed.

"I believe you, but Earth Central will need proof before beginning the process of resettlement. After that, in the morning, I'd like to meet your president and see your fleet for myself. I presume that Raptor of yours can take me there?"

"You'd go back with us?" Sam asked in surprise.

"Is there any reason I shouldn't?" Sinclair asked. Beneath the casual question was very sharp intent, and he watched Sam closely as he answered.

"No, no," Sam assured him. "Not at all. Well, it could be dangerous if the jump goes wrong," he corrected himself, "but Kara's a great pilot. There shouldn't be a problem. I know President Roslin is eager to meet people from Earth."

Sinclair smiled faintly "Well, I was born on Mars, but I'll have to do, for now." He stood, and Sam followed his lead. "I'll do what I can for your people, Mister Anders."

They shook hands again. "I appreciate that."

The door opened as Sinclair approached, to reveal Garibaldi standing there. He frowned at his commander, but Sinclair spoke first, "Chief, all five of them need to visit Doctor Franklin in Medlab."

"I heard," Garibaldi answered and waved up one of his men. "Sergeant Allan will escort you."

Another man about Sam's age, nodded politely. "Sir. This way." Two guards joined them and they went back down the corridor to the conference room.

Kara was on her feet when he came in. "So?" she demanded.

"I think we're good," he answered. "Come on, they want us to prove we're humans, and not some kind of aliens in disguise. So we're going to get a little poked and prodded by their doctor."

Jean chuckled once as she pushed herself up to her feet. "Remind me why I volunteered for this again?"

"To watch my back," he retorted. He noticed Kara hanging back and went to her. "What is it?" he murmured.

She stared at his chest, not lifting her eyes. "Nothing," she muttered, and promptly contradicted herself, "I don't want some strange doctor around me."

He knew why too, but didn't say anything in front of the others. "They're going to take a little blood, that's all. Nobody's gonna make you do anything you don't want to, Kara. But we have to prove we're human or they won't help us. And in the morning, we're going to take Commander Sinclair to the Fleet," he explained.

"Already?" she asked.

"It was his idea," he said with a little shrug. He took her hand and squeezed. "Come on. It'll be okay."

Brendan offered from the other side of the room, "They can't possibly have a doctor with a worse bedside-manner than Cottle, Captain."

"Considering how many times Doc Cottle's saved all our asses, let's have a little respect, Costanza," she rebuked him sharply, but then she was smiling as she thwacked Sam on the upper arm and started for the door. "You coming, Sammy?"

* * *

"You love doing this to me, don't you?" Garibaldi complained, pacing after Sinclair as they left Holding. "Going off station to visit their fleet, when we know _nothing_ about them? He could've been lying through his teeth the whole time."

Sinclair glanced at him sidelong. "Did you think he was?" 

"Well, no. He's holding things back though."

Sinclair was relieved that Garibaldi's assessment matched his own. Anders seemed honest by nature, and he'd been uncomfortable at certain points where he was either lying or hiding the truth. Sinclair presumed if he was really Secretary of State at all, he had been appointed for a reason other than his negotiation experience. Although it wasn't as if they'd need much-- the station had more people than their entire fleet contained right now, and alien government representatives to deal with, besides.

"The only way to get the things he's holding back is to go meet his people.”

“You can send someone else. Or let Earth Dome do it. That’s their job.”

“Nobody in the Dome is gonna care about forty thousand refugees.” Which was, sadly, just the truth. Unless he could get presidential attention to the problem it would be shoved off to the EA displacement agencies. Or, thinking about it, he had another idea for how this could go badly. “No, I take that back; maybe someone in Intel will care they come from Vorlon space, but I doubt the refugee fleet wants that kind of attention,” Sinclair returned as Garibaldi opened the door to his office. “I have to keep ahead of this.” 

Garibaldi grunted, unwilling to accept the reason, even though he knew it was true. "Self-preservation instinct of a gnat," he muttered as he flopped into his office chair.

Sinclair was amused, but he left it alone. He leaned across Garibaldi’s desk, unable to hold back his own enthusiasm for this new project, "These people used to live inside Vorlon space. Doesn't that make you the least bit curious?" 

"No," Garibaldi said, and folded his arms. "It makes me suspicious."

Sinclair chuckled "And that's why you're security, and I'm not. But I still have to go."

"And I'm going with you."

Grimacing, Sinclair realized he should have seen that one coming. "Garibaldi...."

"You think I'm letting you go off on your own again?" Garibaldi demanded. "You manage to get in trouble in your own quarters, and you want to go off to this fleet on the word of five total strangers?"

Sinclair hesitated to find the right words. Garibaldi meant well and he was right in terms of Sinclair's personal security, but he was missing the big picture. "Michael, if these people are who and what they claim to be, then I'll be perfectly safe. If they're liars and they mean harm, one more body with me isn't going to make a difference. But if Babylon Five is attacked, the station needs you here."

Garibaldi snorted. "If the station's attacked, it needs you more than me. So that is _not_ going to wash, Commander. _Somebody_ has to be with you to watch your back." His gaze held Sinclair's and his voice fell to a low murmur, "You can't take on everything alone, Jeff. You promised."

Sinclair nodded once, reluctant. It went against the grain, asking someone else to share in his risk. But a second set of eyes would be useful, especially if he was stuck negotiating and playing politics. Garibaldi could get to know more ordinary people -- plus, he had the galaxy's most finely tuned bullshit detector. "All right. Tomorrow morning you come with me."

Garibaldi leaned back, now satisfied. "Good. I'll let our guests know. Two of them should stay here."

"Hostages?" Sinclair asked, inwardly squirming with distaste, but nodded. "Yes. They'll expect that, I'm sure. They can pick which two. By the time they're done at Medlab, Ivanova will have some quarters for them. They shouldn't stay in here, if we're trying to be friendly."

"But keep them under watch," Garibaldi said, not quite as a question. 

"Of course," he answered. He was about to leave when Garibaldi spoke again.

"I meant to ask before, how'd the meeting with Kosh go?"

The reminder was like a thin needle of ice shooting straight through him, and he heard Kosh's voice again. Destiny. There was no such thing as destiny. He shook his head once and shrugged his shoulders, trying to work out some of the sudden tension. "Well, you know Kosh. Hardly gives a straight answer to anything."

Garibaldi's sharp blue eyes were fixed on him. "And?"

"And... I don't know. He was very cryptic. But he did confirm they’re from Vorlon space. At least that’s what I think he meant. And--" he stopped and had to finish more quietly, after a quick glance to make sure the door was still shut, "if I understood him, we're going to be facing something bad. Soon."

"About the visitors?" Garibaldi asked, straightening with alert suspicion. 

"I don't think so, but maybe connected to them." He gave a rueful smile. "Why would he want to give us a straight answer that might be actually useful?"

Garibaldi gave a snort. "Yeah. Well, don't let him get to you. We don't need him to tell us there's something bad coming down the pipe, do we? Because there is _always_ something bad coming."

He chuckled wryly, and couldn't disagree. "And on that cheery note, I'm going back to my office to start my report."

On his way back to CIC, a familiar voice bellowed, "Commander Sinclair!"

He stopped. Of course. He'd detoured through the Zocalo on his usual evening walk through, so this was no less than he deserved. He took a breath, and turned to face Ambassador G'Kar. "Ambassador. Good evening."

The Narn ambassador approached with a friendly expression that immediately put Sinclair on alert. G'Kar was personable and usually reasonable, except where anything touched on the Centauri, but his jovial moods usually meant he wanted something. "These new visitors," he said. "I've heard they are a long lost Earth colony. Is it true?"

"It appears to be. They're in Medlab right now, so we can verify it," he said, wishing he had access to the Narn gossip machine. How did G'Kar find out these things so quickly?

"How very exciting for you," G'Kar said, sounding sincere. "How long have they been gone? And who took them from Earth?"

"We don't know yet. It was a long time ago, I suspect."

"So mysterious, how they appeared out of nothing, isn't it, Commander?" G'Kar asked. "And how they had Quantium-40 in their engine, even though the ship is too small to jump to hyperspace by itself. At least through any technology we know about."

Sinclair kept his face blank. He'd expected the other ships to notice the Raptor appear and wonder about its technology, but he hadn't thought anyone would be able scan that small amount of Quantium-40 the Raptor had in its engines. But Quantium-40 was very rare and valuable, precisely because it was the only substance capable of powering a jump point into hyperspace. "We don't know that's what they're doing, Ambassador. But yes, it's certainly very intriguing."

Unblinking red eyes looked into his, and G'Kar's amiability dropped away. "This isn't a threat, Commander. Not from me. But I would be very careful, if I were you. We are not the only power in the galaxy who will be very curious about that technology." He gave a short bow of his head and moved off, leaving Sinclair feeling very troubled.

Because G'Kar was right. A ship that small actually being able to make a jump to hyperspace represented a leap of technology and tactical advantage that even the Minbari didn't have. Everyone was going to want it for themselves. And Earth Alliance was not going to want to share.

He made it to the office without being stopped again and stared at his dark computer screen for awhile, wondering why he had ever accepted this job in the first place.


	4. They're human! probably

Kara hopped off the bed, as the anxiety that had knotted itself beneath the bottom of her ribcage finally relaxed.

Doctor Franklin smiled at her. "See? Was that so bad?"

"No," she admitted, though a bit ruefully, since she'd thought she'd covered her concern. But the doctor had very kind eyes and he definitely had a friendlier way about him than Doc Cottle. And despite a similar skin color, he looked very little like the fake Cylon doctor on Caprica, which helped. The exam had consisted mostly of having a piece of equipment with flashy lights slide over her body. The most invasive thing had been the blood sample, and even that had barely hurt.

"You're up last," Franklin looked at Sam.

"C'mon, fearless leader," she nudged him with her elbow. "Your turn."

Sam stretched out on the bed and the doctor ran the flashing light scanner over him. Franklin frowned a little, and ran it over Sam again. "Doctor?" Sam asked, puzzled by the extra attention.

"You're very fit," Franklin said. "Athlete?"

"Professional pyramid player," Sam answered and added with a grimace, "It's-- well, it was the most popular sport in the Colonies." 

"For a team that sucked," Kara couldn't help adding, and smirked when he and Jean both glared at her.

Franklin nodded, ignoring her comment. "You're fit, but you've got some scarring in your lungs. I would guess you had a pretty serious lung infection."

"Yeah," Jean answered for him when he didn't. "He was in bed a month. We thought he might die."

"Barolay," he chided. "I got better."

Kara frowned at him. She hadn't realized his pneumonia had lasted so long.

"You're going to have to watch that the rest of your life, probably," Franklin said, pulling him upright and drawing the blood sample from his arm. "You'll be prone to further infection. I can prescribe an inhalant for you as a preventative."

Sam looked hesitant. "I don't know, we don't have any currency..." 

"No problem. I can authorize it to you. I shouldn't let you out of here without it since you'll be around new diseases on the station that your body may have little resistance against. In fact," he made a notation on his pad, "I'll need to draw up a vaccination schedule for all of you, once I finish the blood samples. Luckily humans aren't very susceptible to alien germs, but plenty of nasty Earth bugs still circulate." He handed the sample to an assistant with a word to get the medicine. While they waited for her to come back, Franklin added, "If I may offer you some more medical advice? You definitely shouldn't smoke. That's cutting your lung capacity even more."

"Frakking told you," Jean muttered at him. "Idiot. No wonder you get winded after a half game."

"I do not." He was starting to sound cranky and Kara put a hand on his knee to distract him.

She looked at the doctor. "So? Do we pass?"

"So far as I can tell, you're all human," Franklin answered with a smile. “Congrats.”

"Oh thank the Gods," Costanza said with a dramatic sigh of relief.

Kara wondered what the result would be if Sharon had been in the group. Was their technology advanced enough to pick out a Cylon? The station seemed a bit primitive compared to the fleet with its lack of integrated gravity, but on the other hand, there were machines in this room whose function she couldn't even guess.

Her musings were cut short by a sound of someone entering the main doors and a female voice, "So, Doctor, are you done torturing them yet?"

Kara turned to see a female officer, in the same uniform style as Garibaldi but in mostly blue. The jacket reminded her of Colonial Fleet officer's duty uniform, but with a panel of red in the front. The officer’s hair was long but pulled back tightly from her face, and she gave off a distinct vibe of competence and stern professionalism. One by one, she looked at the five new arrivals, and when she looked at Kara she nodded a little, perhaps recognizing a fellow officer. 

Doctor Franklin smiled and introduced as she approached, "Lieutenant Commander Susan Ivanova, the XO of the station. They're all yours."

"Aaaand?" Ivanova prompted.

"Human," Franklin confirmed for her. "I'll run their DNA. It should give us a clue about how long they've been away."

Ivanova's straight posture relaxed slightly and she nodded, seeming pleased. "Good. The commander will be glad to hear that. When I left him, he was holding for President Santiago."

"I'd better link in and give him my report so he can pass it on," Franklin walked apart a little ways and lifted the back of his hand to his mouth.

Ivanova turned to them. "We've found you some quarters for tonight. The commander told me you'll be taking him to your fleet tomorrow?" she asked.

Sam nodded. "He wanted to go."

Her lips flattened. "Well, Commander Sinclair is a little more adventurous than the rest of us really like, sometimes," she said. "I hope you appreciate the risk he's taking."

"I do," Sam answered, sounding very serious. "We do. All I can tell you is that we're here looking for help. Not to hurt anybody."

She met his gaze for a moment and then gave a little breath of resignation. "I hope so. Chief Garibaldi will go with the commander, and in exchange, two of your group will have to stay here as a guarantee of their return. You can pick which ones stay."

Sam turned his head to exchange a quick look with Kara, and she gave a shrug in answer. It sounded like a reasonable arrangement to her. He looked back to Ivanova with a nod. "We'll discuss it tonight."

"That's fine. Follow me."

Outside the medlab, two gray-uniformed and armed security officers joined the group, following behind. Kara told herself that she shouldn't be annoyed by it, since it was no more than the commander was going to get on _Galactica._ But soon, their presence at her back turned reassuring as they passed out of the human-controlled area and into the open section of the station.

Ivanova led them through a shopping and entertainment area called the Zocalo. It reminded her of the old agora in Caprica City, with booths selling everything from food to jewelry. But she didn't pay much attention after awhile -- it was all she could do to not stare in gap-mouthed astonishment at all the different non-humans wandering around freely. Her hands twitched, seeking the familiar comfort of her sidearm.

Everyone else on the team seemed to be handling it better. Hot Dog looked awed and kept wandering away to look at things or stop to stare, until Barolay appointed herself his shepherd and kept him with the others. Gaeta's interest was less obvious, but she knew him well enough to see the curiosity. Sam had on what she called his pyramid-face, so it was hard to tell what he thought, but he didn't seem to want to reach for a gun.

They passed a particularly weird looking alien haggling with a merchant -- at first she thought it had a head like a bug's with great big black eyes and a long snout, but then realized the alien was wearing an enviro suit and the snout was its breathing apparatus.

She looked away hoping to see something more familiar, and only realized she'd moved closer to Sam when her hip nudged him. He glanced down at her and smiled, "Hey, you."

She could hardly say that she was feeling a bit disturbed by all the aliens, so she nudged him again in reply and asked, "Lieutenant Commander, just how many aliens are there here?"

Ivanova paused and frowned thoughtfully "Different races you mean? Let's see, there's the big four-- Minbari, Centauri, Narn and Vorlon -- who are part of the Advisory Council. There are fifteen representatives of the League of Non-Aligned worlds, and probably twice that many unaffiliated travelers..." she thought aloud, then shrugged. "About fifty, I'd guess."

"Fifty?" Costanza blurted, sounding like he was about to have heart-failure in shock. "There are fifty kinds of aliens?"

Kara was glad he'd made an idiot of himself so she didn't.

Ivanova chuckled. "Oh, I think the tally is well over a hundred, by now. But many of them don't come here." She glanced at their faces and frowned a little, "I didn't believe that you're a lost colony, but you are, aren't you? This is your first contact with non-human races." She didn't let them say anything, advising, "Don't worry; you'll soon find out they're like people you know: a few are nice, most are backstabbing thieves out for themselves, and some will annoy you just by existing."

Kara chuckled, suddenly feeling a lot more at ease at the strangeness around her. Ivanova left the Zocalo and entered a lift, the rest of the group following her in, including security which made the small space rather packed.

Ivanova had to put a passcard key into the lift to open the doors on the right level, but when Kara stepped out, she saw only a corridor like several she'd already seen. 

"This is Green sector," Ivanova told them. "It's an area set aside for the diplomatic staff of the various visitors and representatives we have here. You're humans, but also a foreign diplomatic mission, so I thought you'd do better here." One of the doors along the corridor swung upward out of the way, when she put her card into the reader. "It's very plain - usually the ambassadors decorate and furnish the rooms to their own taste."

The quarters were large by _Galactica_ standards. It was more of an apartment, with a kitchenette area in the corner, a seating area, and two open doorways on either side that led to bedrooms and presumably head facilities. The walls were gray and blank and the very basic furniture was simple in neutral beige and black. The only color was a picture on the wall of a swirling purple and blue cloud of space gas.

Or, Kara thought it was a picture, until Ivanova walked up to it and said, "Computer, activate." The image blanked to show the Babylon Five logo.

"This can give you some basic information about the station, the other races, and Earth Alliance, if you'd like," she explained. "It's also the communication station. If you need something, you can contact station security. If you have clothes or bags from your ship, security can escort you to get them."

"So we're prisoners here?" Kara asked, more to see what Ivanova would say than because it was really in question.

Ivanova grimaced, but admitted, "Yes. For now, we'd prefer you didn't wander the station."

"That's all right," Sam told her. "We understand."

"It's for your own safety as well as ours. There's been a lot of interest in your ship," she warned them. "It's a technology unknown to us and there are some who will do just about anything for advantage. Just, be careful."

Kara nodded, hearing the seriousness of the warning.

"Then that should help with finding a planet, shouldn't it?" Gaeta asked. "We have something valuable to offer."

Ivanova answered wryly, "Oh yes, it always helps to have something valuable if you want Earth Gov's attention. Is there anything else I can do for you right now?" she asked. "Garibaldi will come get three of you in the morning for your trip."

"No, I think we're good. Thank you," Sam told her. She nodded once and left.

When the door quietly hissed shut behind her, all five of them sort of stared around the room and at one another in uncertain silence.

Barolay was the first to say anything, her tone straining for sardonic, "At least the cell is bigger."

"This whole place is big," Costanza said. Kara didn't think he was talking about the room or even the station.

"Over a hundred alien races?" Gaeta murmured. "How did we never know about any of them?"

"From what Commander Sinclair said, the Colonies were being protected by some very powerful aliens called Vorlons," Sam explained. "Nobody else could get to us. Well, except ourselves," he added sourly, and strode over to the terminal. "Computer, what is a Vorlon?"

The screen flickered, changed to an image of a long mottled yellow object, that Kara thought at first was a Vorlon, until she realized that it was a vessel.

" _A Vorlon is a non-human sapient species,"_ the computer said, " _The Vorlon territory encompasses approximately three million cubic light-years of space. They permit no visitors within that territory. Their technological level is the most advanced of the civilizations with which Earth Alliance has formal relations. The Vorlons utilize biological systems of a scale and complexity unknown to any other space-faring species. It is suspected, but not confirmed that their vessels are also self-aware beings."_

Kara felt a little cold at the mention of biological vessels, remembering the Cylon Raider innards and the blood. Cylons were biological as well. "What does a Vorlon look like?" she asked, noting there was no picture of the race themselves, only their ship.

" _Unknown_."

"Unknown?" Sam repeated in confusion. "But Commander Sinclair talked to one. How can it be unknown?" 

The computer answered calmly, " _Vorlon Ambassador Kosh uses an encounter suit.”_ An image of the suit appeared-- an odd looking thing that Kara might’ve thought was the alien itself. _“The encounter suit may not be opened even by medical staff."_

"That sounds paranoid," Barolay muttered. "They don't want anybody in their space or know what they look like."

"Anybody else get the feeling we're some farmer from Sagittara dumped into the middle of Caprica City?" Costanza asked, sounding more amused or excited than disturbed by it.

"Nah," Kara said, with a snort, "didn't you hear? We've got tech they've never seen before. We can't be country bumpkins."

Sam turned away from the image of the alien suit on the viewscreen. "We're not country bumpkins, but we are strangers in a galaxy where we know a whole lot less than we thought we did. We've gotta be careful. But first we better figure out who's staying here."

"I have to stay," Barolay said immediately, so Kara knew she'd been thinking about it already. "You have to go back to meet with Roslin, and the Raptor needs a pilot and ECO."

"I'll stay with you," Costanza offered eagerly. 

Kara shared a glance with Sam and knew he was thinking the same thing she was -- Hot Dog could very well fumble them into a war, unless the aliens had a very high tolerance for eager puppies. "No. It should be me," she offered. "Or Gaeta. We're not exactly the frakking Secretary of State but we have some authority at least." She thought Felix might be the better choice, for all the reasons that she wasn't the leader of the delegation in the first place, but when Sam looked quizzically at Gaeta, he shrugged.

"Up to you. Captain Thrace has the rank," he said, very neutrally, not looking her way.

Sam looked from Gaeta to her, and his gaze held none of its usual warmth, only a cool weighing of her skills and her weaknesses. For the first time, he was evaluating her like one of his team. "Shouldn't you pilot the Raptor?"

"Costanza can do it," she said. 

"'Thanks, Captain," he answered, all pleased, until she added, determined to nip the arrogance:

"It's easy enough to reverse the jump." Then she thought of another good reason for her to stay, "Oh. And better Gaeta should go with you, if the Fleet's had to jump already."

Sam smiled. "All right. It's settled. We won't be gone long, anyway. The people here are going to get twitchy if we keep their commander too long. So let’s hit the racks, and get some sleep.”

There were two beds, one in each bedroom, and one long couch in the sitting area. After a moment when no one moved, Kara grabbed Sam's shoulder and steered him toward one of the bed rooms. She glanced back at the other three, "Figure it out for yourselves. We'll be in here. Don't bother us without a really good reason."

"Or what, Captain?" Costanza teased, and she glared at him. 

"Trust me, Lieutenant, you don't want to find out," Gaeta said, and his tone was too dry for Kara to call him on it, but she knew he meant it. Her gaze flickered to him and away. Damn him, he should be just as pissed at Barolay - she'd been there too.

Kara shoved at Sam's shoulder again to make him move toward the door. He didn't complain, or even say anything until he called good night over his shoulder at the doorway. Barolay called back a cheerful mocking, "Have fun!" 

"We will," Kara said and toggled the switch to close the door. The translucent panel hissed closed and the sound of Costanza talking abruptly fell to an indistinguishable murmur.

Halfway between the bed and the door, Sam turned. He lifted his eyebrows, and prompted, "So?" But his blue eyes were bright, and a smile hovered on his lips as if he knew perfectly well what she wanted.

"I am so sick of talking," she muttered and pulled her civilian shirt off. Her double tanks were underneath, and she saw the way his gaze dropped down, tracing her dog tag chain down her chest, and the smile faded. 

"Like what you see, Mister Secretary?" she asked and put a bit more sway in her hips to join him.

"Always," he admitted easily and caught her around the waist with both hands, to pull her snugly into his body. It always felt so right, pressed up against him, and it made her fingers tingle with the need to touch all that body in front of her. "Missed you," he murmured and bent to kiss her.

That didn't require any response besides the obvious: her mouth against his and her hands on his shoulders, sliding up the muscles of his neck and behind to push her fingers into his hair and keep him where he was.

His big frakking hands spanned her waist and down her hips, to lift her up on her toes and more firmly against him. 

Later, he collapsed on top of her, and she let out a satisfied hum. With a sigh, he kissed her cheek and shoulder, and shifted as if to move off. She tightened her grip, keeping him where he was. He was heavy, but warm, and she wanted to remember this moment, and keep it tucked in the corner of her mind when he was gone.

"It's hard to believe Earth is so close," she murmured, toying with the sweaty ends of his hair.

He didn't move, answering softly, "It's hard to believe Earth is real."

"And all these aliens… It's not what I expected."

He shook his head against her shoulder and chuckled once. "I've tried not to expect anything since Caprica went up in ash. Makes living a hell of a lot more bearable." He kissed her collarbone and he sighed. "It's hard not to expect things out of this place though. I think their commander wants to help us, and I really hope we're not bringing the Cylons down on them."

She chuckled. "Did you see some of those ships out there? The power of this station? I _hope_ the Cylons come -- because they're going to kick the Cylons' ass. I only hope we're there to watch."

He raised himself up to look at her face. "'Watch'? When has Kara Thrace ever sat back and watched a battle?"

She snickered. "The same day Samuel T. Anders became a politician, maybe? Secretary of State for the Twelve Colonies, no less."

He smiled, but she saw the way his gaze shifted away, darkening in doubt. "Kind of a long way from the C-Bucs, I know."

“Hey.” One hand caressed down the back of his neck and between his shoulder blades. "It's going fine, Sam. We're here, we're safe, and you're taking the commander to the fleet tomorrow. Which is a hell of a lot more than Roslin expects, I'm sure. So, relax."

"I don't like leaving you and Barolay here," he admitted after a moment. "So many things could happen … you could get stuck here."

"Do they have alcohol and guns and fighter ships?" she asked, trying to lighten things up, and he chuckled. "I'll be fine. You worry about our new friends."

"I'll still worry about you," he murmured, and moved her hair off her cheek gently, before he kissed her again.

With his mouth on hers, she didn't have to tell him that she would worry about him too.

* * *

Kara’s eyes shot open and instantly she was alert, wondering what had awakened her.

Sam was making noise. He wasn't snoring, but it was more than just breathing. She turned over, about to elbow him into either wakefulness or silence, but held back. In the purplish glow of the emergency lights, she could see he was still asleep, curling his large frame into a ball as if he'd gotten so used to a small bunk he'd forgotten how to stretch out. 

He was talking. At first she thought he might be having a nightmare. Sam wasn't as prone to them as she was, but he had his share. But this time he didn't sound upset. He was muttering in broken phrases under his breath, and sounded as if he was having a conversation with someone.

Then suddenly he cried out wordlessly and flung his arms out, as if to keep something back. His hands would've hit Kara in the face if she didn't block them, and seize his wrists.

"Sam, wake up!"

He flinched, a shudder all through his body, and his eyes opened, darting around in confusion before settling on her face. "Kara?" 

"You awake?"

"I… think so," he answered hesitantly and when he tugged she let him go so he could sit up, rub at his eyes and scrub his hands through his hair.

"Bad dream?" she asked, not expecting much of an answer. Sam was worse about sharing them than she was, usually claiming he didn't remember.

But this time he shook his head and frowned. His back was curved, and his knees bent, as he stared at the dark translucent wall that separated this bedroom from the living area. "No, not really. I was talking to Sue-Shaun.” That was ominous, since Kara knew Sue-Shaun had died on Caprica, trapped in one of those baby farm horrors. But that didn’t seem to be what Sam was having a problem with. “She said things…."

"Things?" Kara prompted when he trailed off into silence.

He heaved a breath and shook his head, fiddling with her dogtag on the cord around his neck. His voice was uncertain, and he shivered. "Strange things. I don't know. It wasn't really her…"

"It was a dream, Sam."

"No. I mean, I know I was asleep, but it felt… different from a dream. It felt real. She said … " he swallowed hard, "I don’t know, something about destiny and I was supposed to be here. And she said … something dark is coming."

She frowned at him. "Cylons?"

"No. She showed me. I saw it…" he shivered and his eyes held a horror she'd never seen before, looking at something from his nightmare. "So black it was a hole in space," he whispered. "It blocked out the stars. But it felt… it felt _evil_. And it was coming straight towards us… "

"It was a dream," she told him tartly, trying to break this odd fixation and ignore the shiver of dread that crawled up her spine. "From eating real food for a change. I was right here and I could hear you, muttering in your sleep."

"But I --"

She stripped back the blanket with a sudden gesture that startled him and leaned closer. "You're awake now. So we could talk about bad dreams, or… we could do something much more fun, since you're going back to the fleet in a few hours…." she trailed off and let her hand do the talking, sliding up his thigh. At least a part of him seemed to be suddenly paying attention to her, and she grinned, letting her hand do the talking some more.

He shook off the mood and gave her a slow smirk. "Oh yeah? I don't remember you doing much of anything earlier."

She put her other hand on his chest and pushed him back. He went willingly, smiling up at her as she climbed on top of him, and when she bent to kiss him, the bad dream seemed forgotten.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ooh cryptic prophecies are everywhere! 
> 
> Next week: Sinclair and Garibaldi head to the Galactica because it's not really fair that only one side gets to be confuzzled.


	5. Welcome to the Rag-Tag Fleet

Kara did external pre-flight checks with Hotdog, not because he needed her help but because she hated waiting around. The Raptor was in good condition and everything checked out as expected.

Security Sergeant Allan and two others had brought them to the docking bay, explaining that the station officers would meet them shortly. When she glanced over, Sam and Gaeta were talking to Allan, while Jean lingered at the edge of the platform looking around curiously.

The doors hissed open. Ivanova entered, with Garibaldi and a second man, who had to be the commander, since he was carrying a shoulder bag as if he intended to go somewhere. Both men were wearing what looked like flight suits, including their helmets under their arms. 

Sinclair strode up to Sam with a smile. "Sorry we're late. Last minute instructions from EarthDome. I hope you weren't waiting long."

Kara couldn't get over how casually all these people talked about Earth. There was a part of her still convinced it was just a trick, and there was no such place.

Sinclair shook hands with Sam, who answered, "No, not at all. Flight suits?"

"We thought we should bring our own," Sinclair explained and hoisted the shoulder bag with a shrug. "Dress uniform's in here."

"Better you than me, Commander," Ivanova teased.

He shot her a bemused glance, then turned his attention to Kara. "Would you introduce me to the rest of your crew, Secretary Anders?"

Sam looked chagrined at the subtle reminder of manners, and Kara grinned as he hastened to introduce everyone, "Commander Sinclair, this is Captain Kara Thrace, Lieutenant Felix Gaeta and Lieutenant Brendan Costanza. Jean Barolay, who's a civilian like me. Kara and Jean are going to stay here."

"Captain Thrace," Sinclair shook her hand with a warm smile. "I hope you won't be our guest for too long."

"Of course not, sir. I hope Barolay and I can look around while you're gone?"

"Certainly," he answered. "Lieutenant Commander Ivanova already volunteered to give you the tour."

Ivanova's suddenly neutral expression suggested "volunteer" wasn't exactly the right word, but Kara answered, "That would be great. This is a big place. Lots to see."

"It certainly seems enormous on some days," Sinclair agreed with a rueful look. He shook hands with the rest of the team and then looked to Sam. "We're ready whenever you are."

Sam glanced at her. "Pre-flight?"

"External complete," she answered, "Hot Dog and Gaeta can do the rest inside." 

"Station's yours, Lieutenant Commander," Sinclair told Ivanova. "Try to keep it in one piece."

"Will do, Commander. Good luck," Ivanova nodded to him. "Garibaldi..." she said to him in a warning tone.

"I know, I know," he answered with a grimace. "I'll do my best, Lieutenant Commander."

Sinclair and Garibaldi followed Gaeta and Hot Dog up to the hatch.

Sam looked at Jean and with that old camaraderie Kara envied, he just smiled at her and said, "C-Bucs rule."

"Damn straight, T."

He tapped his fist against hers once, and then turned to Kara. "We'll be back as soon as we can. A couple of days, maybe."

"We'll manage." She couldn't help a tease, "Mister Secretary."

He rolled his eyes at her. "Try not to get in trouble."

"Oh, you know me.” She shrugged carelessly and tried to look innocent.

"I do," he answered, with a snort, and took a step toward her as if to kiss or hug her goodbye, but then he stopped, and his face flickered with uncertainty. Then he added, teasing with a bit of forced cheer, "The station better be here when we come back."

"Aye, sir." She gave a casual salute and waited until he turned to go, before calling after him, "Hey, is that any way to say goodbye?"

Damn, he moved fast when he wanted to -- in a flash he'd turned back and grabbed her in his arms. "No, it's not," he murmured, right before his mouth came down on hers.

She tried to tell him everything in her kiss that she found so hard to say and then when they pulled away, she muttered with a sharp poke, "You better frakking come back."

His fingers traced down her cheek. "Always." His hand fell down to tap the dogtag hanging at her chest, that matched the one around his own neck, as if it were an idol to seal his promise. 

Without another word, he followed the others inside the Raptor and the ramp sealed up after him. She watched, licking lips made tender from his stubble, and tried to ignore how one word had made her feel all warm inside and she couldn't stop smiling.

"That... was some kiss," Ivanova observed. "You're close?"

Kara felt very smug. "He's my husband." It still felt a little surreal to say the words but good as well, as though the gods were reminding her of what she had almost lost. She chuckled at Ivanova's surprise, and headed for the door. "Come on, we need to get clear or they can't go."

Out in the corridor, Ivanova passed on word from the wireless device on her hand when the Raptor had cleared the station. "Ready for the tour?"

By lunchtime Kara was more than ready for a break. The station was large and the aliens were many, and it was hard to grasp them all.

Once, when Ivanova was talking over her link to CIC in a crowded corridor full of aliens, Barolay leaned closer to Kara and muttered, "Makes the skinjobs suddenly seem a whole lot more human, doesn't it?"

Kara snorted, but she had to agree. After seeing creature people that looked like walking fish, lizards, and walruses, Cylons didn't seem too different.

The three women ate at a small restaurant with a view of the core. Like _Cloud Nine,_ there was a hollow space in the center which gave the illusion of openness. It was still odd, because the core was cylindrical and there were buildings on the opposite side, kept there by the centrifugal force of the spinning station, but by the time she dug into the real food, she forgot about the buildings about to fall on her head.

"What do you think?" Ivanova asked.

"It's big," Kara answered. "So many aliens."

Barolay shrugged. "My brain got stuck way back at Earth being real. The rest of it doesn't seem to matter."

Ivanova made a thoughtful sound and drank a little from her glass, before saying, "Earth is crowded. Dirty. If you're looking for some kind of sacred place, I think it's going to be a big disappointment."

"It exists, and there are humans who live there," Kara answered softly. "It doesn't have to be perfect."

Ivanova nodded. "Okay. I don't know if your people will be able to settle there, though. There's a ..." her mouth twisted in a expression of disgust, "feeling of isolationism growing on Earth at the moment. And even though you're humans, the commander and I worry that certain politicians are going to pander to that fear and restrict your settlement. President Santiago at least will listen to the commander's recommendation but that might not be enough.”

Kara nodded and snorted, "Politics. That would be why I like being a pilot. At least you get to shoot things."

Ivanova huffed a laugh of rueful agreement. "And then they promote you right out of it." Then her expression faltered and she muttered, "Oh great, here we go."

Seconds later, a man who looked human but with the most ridiculous vertical hair style Kara had ever seen, came up to the table. "Lieutenant Commander Ivanova!" he exclaimed with an unknown accent. "How are you this lovely afternoon!"

Kara saw that his teeth seemed pointed and revised her idea that he was human. Human-like, but maybe not human, confirmed when Ivanova greeted him politely, "Ambassador."

He turned eagerly to face her and Jean. "And these must be your newly arrived guests. Ambassador Londo Mollari of the Centauri Republic," he introduced himself, with a flamboyant sort of bow.

"Ambassador, Captain Kara Thrace and Jean Barolay of the lost Earth colony of Kobol," Ivanova introduced.

"Yes, fascinating," Mollari said. "A real lost Earth colony. You know, we Centauri joked that we were a lost Earth colony some years ago. The humans didn't take the joke especially well, but it made us friends."

"Ambassador..." Ivanova complained.

"What? Are we not friends?" he retorted lightly, but didn't take his eyes off Kara and Jean. "I've heard the commander has gone off to meet your people."

"Yes, he should be back in a day or two," Ivanova answered.

"I hope your people will also keep the Centauri in mind," Mollari said to Kara. "We have all the glories of the Republic to offer you - thousands of years of history and culture. Open worlds ripe for settlement."

Kara was suddenly very glad that she hadn't been picked as the leader of the mission. _Politics._ This was supposed to be Sam's frakking job - she should have made him stay and been the one going back to the ship. "I have no authority to negotiate for the fleet, Ambassador. I'm just a pilot. But if you wait a few days, Secretary of State Anders will come back with Commander Sinclair, and you can talk to him then."

Jean gave her a look, but Kara refused to feel guilty about siccing the ambassador on Sam. If he didn't want to deal, he could always pass it off to Roslin, who'd chew up this guy for lunch. Besides, she didn't want to get involved in any of this.

Mollari nodded his head to her. "Very well, Captain, I will do that. Thank you. Ladies." He bustled off, and in his wake, Jean snorted a laugh.

"Sam had no idea what he was getting into when he agreed to Roslin's plan, did he?"

"He's not your secretary of state?" Ivanova asked.

"He is," Kara said, "as of two days ago. President Roslin wanted a civilian in charge of our mission, and since we don't have any ambassadors, she picked Sam."

"I see," Ivanova said, while clearly not understanding at all, but she didn't ask. "Well, Mollari's fairly harmless and the Centauri Republic's in decline, but still, he's canny when he wants to be. So don't take him lightly."

"We'll pass that on." Jean returned to her lunch, eating everything on her plate and sat back with a satisfied sigh. "Gods, real food. I may never go back to the fleet."

"Real food?" Ivanova repeated curiously. 

"All we have is processed algae," Kara explained. "And a tiny bit of fresh food we can grow on a few of the ships, but there's a strict rotation for that."

"Algae?" Ivanova wrinkled her nose in horror. "Then I invite both of you over to my quarters for dinner tonight. I can do better than algae."

They accepted gratefully and Ivanova got the check, so they could continue the tour.

* * *

Sinclair sat in the back, next to Garibaldi, with Anders across from him, and Gaeta at the station in the back, while Costanza was in the pilot's seat. 

As they lifted off and headed for the bay doors, he asked Anders, "You and Captain Thrace?"

Anders blushed and his gaze flicked away before returning, as he attempted a casual shrug. "We're married."

"Married?" Garibaldi demanded incredulously. "You left your _wife_ as a hostage?"

Anders snorted. "Kara can take care of herself."

Gaeta made a noise of agreement in the back, which sounded a bit hostile to Sinclair, but he didn't ask about it, just filed it away.

"Are we ready?" Costanza asked. "We're clear."

"You have the coordinates, Hotdog, we're go," Gaeta confirmed.

"May I?" Sinclair asked eagerly, gesturing to the empty co-pilot's seat. "I won't touch anything, I just want to watch."

Garibaldi chuckled and rolled his eyes.

"Sure," Anders answered.

Sinclair moved up to the front. The Raptor's bubble window of the cockpit had a great view of his station and a few of the ships surrounding it.

"Strap in, sir," Hotdog suggested, and Sinclair reached for the straps. As soon as he was buckled in, Hotdog announced, "We are go for jump. Ready... jump."

There was a moment's disorientation and a bright light washing through the cockpit, then there were different stars through the cockpit window.

Sinclair stared, knowing at once that they'd shifted location far enough to change the starfield. In _**seconds**._ Without a trip in hyperspace.

"That is amazing," he explained. "How the hell do you do that without entering hyperspace?"

Hotdog chuckled. "I'm a pilot, sir. Lieutenant Gaeta could explain, maybe, but not me." Then the speaker crackled.

_"Raptor, Showboat. Identify yourself."_

Hotdog flicked a switch and answered, using obvious codes, "Showboat, Hotdog. Condition green. Status C-Bucs rule. _Galactica_ , request landing clearance with two VIPs from the station."

A male voice growled with authority, " _Hotdog, Galactica Actual. Confirm two passengers."_

"Sir, yes, sir. Confirmed, Commander of the station is aboard, seeks landing and meeting with command staff and President Roslin."

After a short pause, a different male voice answered, " _Understood. Hotdog, you're cleared for landing."_

The Raptor changed heading, and the fleet came into view. He caught himself leaning forward, trying to get a better view of the ships spread out against the glow of stars. There were many -- some industrial and blocky, some more obviously for passengers, and one hugely delicate-looking one with a spinning wheel. 

It occurred to him that he was looking at the remnants of a once thriving world, and exactly what would have happened to Earth if the Minbari hadn't stopped a dozen years ago.

Anders hadn't been specific about what had attacked the colonies, but Sinclair had been ordered to find out who. To reduce an advanced world to this, their enemies had to be advanced as well, and they obviously posed a danger to Earth Alliance.

The ship turned again, lining up on a ship that appeared to be much larger than the rest. 

It was at least the size of a destroyer. He frowned seeing it, now doubting that the attack had been that much of a surprise. No one built a warship like this unless they had enemies already.

"There she is," Hotdog pointed to the ship, with a proud smile. " _Galactica_."

"Impressive," Sinclair responded, and meant it. He could see small fighter craft buzzing around it, as their ship cruised nearer, and battle damage in charred armor plates and long grooves in the hull. 

The small Raptor headed toward the open landing bay, and came to a neat landing in the cavernous space. Then the ship slowly lowered on a lift, through an airlock, and into a matching huge flight deck. 

There were more Raptors parked, some undergoing maintenance, and farther off were the smaller fighter craft, which looked not too different from his own Starfuries, if configured more like an atmospheric Thunderbolt.

His fingers itched with the desire to fly one, until he wanted to laugh at himself. " _Diplomatic face, Jeff. No matter how much fun they look."_ Maybe they'd let him sit in one, at least.

Then he spied the growing crowd waiting outside on the deck - blue and black uniforms, and orange-jumpsuited deck crew - and knew he had no choice but put on his diplomat face.

"You ready, Commander?" Anders asked.

Sinclair unfastened his harness and stood. "Ready."

Gaeta was the first up and he opened the main hatch and went down to the floor. Anders followed, with Sinclair and Garibaldi after. At the open doorway, Garibaldi muttered, "That's a lot of guns. Not very trusting, are they?"

Sinclair didn't answer, just walked down the ramp careful of his footing, but Garibaldi had a point. There were people in black, with big guns and armored vests, guarding the officers in blue. He found it curious that their duty uniforms were blue, too.

One of the older officers had glasses and the other had a patch on one eye -- these people could jump through hyperspace in a ship the size of a shuttlecraft and yet still wore eyeglasses? It was an interesting choice of technological priorities.

Anders led the way directly to the senior officers. "Admiral William Adama, Colonel Saul Tigh, of the Battlestar _Galactica._ This is Commander Jeffrey Sinclair and Chief Michael Garibaldi of the Earth Station Babylon 5."

Adama put out his hand first, and Sinclair grasped it to shake it once. "Earth," Adama repeated in a gravelly voice. "You can't know how much it means to us to hear that word, Commander Sinclair. Welcome aboard."

"Thank you, Admiral. You and your people have my condolences for the losses you've suffered."

Adama nodded, and addressed Anders, "Starbuck?"

Anders explained, "She and Barolay remained on the station, until we return with the commander and Chief Garibaldi."

Garibaldi explained, "A little insurance. We've had experience with people who aren't what they claim to be."

Adama and Tigh exchanged a glance, layered with something, then the admiral addressed Anders, "President Roslin would like to get your debrief before meeting with our new guests."

Anders nodded and said to Sinclair, "I'll see you later, I'm sure. You're in good hands."

"I'll make sure to tell your president how well you represented your people," Sinclair returned. "I wouldn't be here without you." 

Anders flashed a quick smile. "Thanks." He headed out of the docking bay, and Gaeta and Costanza followed him after a gesture from Adama.

Sinclair hoisted his bag to his shoulder. "We could use a place to change out of our flightsuits."

"Certainly," Adama agreed. "This way." On the walk, he said, "I apologize for the limited reception. We're trying to keep this discovery quiet for now. The fleet's suffered disappointment in the past."

"I'm happier with limited formality, Admiral. Protocol can get in the way of conversation." He looked around curiously as they left the bay and entered a much narrower corridor. "What do you call those small craft near the Raptors? The ones with the single pilot seats?" he asked.

"Vipers. Why?"

Sinclair gave a little shrug. "Just curious. I used to be a pilot of a somewhat similar craft."

Garibaldi snorted, "'Used to be'? Commander, if you don't get in a Starfury once a week at least, you get cranky."

"Old habits die hard," he observed to Adama wryly, but not contending Garibaldi's statement.

"Took me years to let my pilots go, when I wanted to go out there with them," Adama agreed. 

“Yeah, I still hate it,” Sinclair agreed with a nod. 

He stopped at an open hatch, and gestured Sinclair and Garibaldi to the room. "Quarters for you. I'll leave Captain Agathon outside," he said, indicating the taller, younger man at his other side, "to escort you to the conference room when it's time. Feel free to take advantage of the facilities."

They exchanged polite formalities and Sinclair and Garibaldi went inside. It was a small, bare cabin with a cots built into the side walls, a desk between them, and sink near the hatch.

When the hatch closed behind them, Garibaldi automatically tried to open it. He found out it wasn't locked but there were guards outside. 

"Yes?" Agathon asked.

"Nothing, just checking," Garibaldi said and shut the hatch again.

Sinclair put his bag on the table and looked around. There was a telephone on the wall above the desk, tied in by an electrical cord. He only recognized it because he'd seen one in the museum of technology.

"What do you think?" he asked Garibaldi.

"I have no idea who their enemy is, which is a problem, but they're acting like they still expect to be attacked. It makes me nervous," Michael said, starting to undo the fasteners on his flight suit. "If they pull us into their war..."

Which was all too possible, if the race who had attacked them were still around, Sinclair realized. He was going to have to get a lot more information on the enemy, if they were a current, instead of a past, threat to this fleet as well as Earth Alliance. "And yet, what choice do we have?" Sinclair countered. "They're human. They're refugees. We have to offer them settlement."

Garibaldi chuckled. "Not if Londo gets to them first with an offer from their long-lost cousins of the Great Centauri Republic."

Shaking his head, Sinclair finished changing into his uniform and they waited for the meeting to start.

* * *

Sam entered the conference room where Roslin and Tory were already waiting. Adama and Tigh followed with Gaeta and Costanza, and Apollo came at their heels.

Sam tried not to glare at Lee, reminding himself that Lee hadn't acted alone, and if he wasn't holding it against Kara, it wasn't fair to hold it against Lee either. But it still rankled -- even if she'd offered, Lee hadn't had to accept it.

Luckily Roslin's enthusiasm meant he didn't have to greet Apollo, as she came toward him with a wide smile. "You did it! Beyond my wildest expectations, Sam -- you brought the station commander here, ready to negotiate with us. It's a dream come true. Sit down, and tell us all about what you saw. Everything."

He took a chair and started, with Gaeta and Hot Dog chiming in, telling everything they'd seen and everyone they talked to. He didn't sugar-coat the revelation that there was a big, scary galaxy out there, full of aliens, including one race who had apparently been shielding them for quite a long time.

Roslin's excitement faded and she grew more thoughtful. "Vorlons. And you saw one of these?"

"No, only a picture of its suit. The computer claimed no one had ever seen one. They're very secretive. And kind of creepy," he added. "The commander can talk about them a bit more, I'm sure. But I suspect the Vorlons were involved in the great migration from Kobol."

"Are you saying the Vorlons were Lords of Kobol?" Roslin asked, leaning forward and frowning at him. 

He knew how important her faith was to her, but decided he had to be honest. He nodded, "Very possibly, yes. They sound very advanced - and they're definitely far more powerful than us. And, it seems they've kept us deep inside their territory, isolated from the rest of the galaxy for thousands of years."

"Why?" Lee asked. 

Sam bit his tongue on a sarcastic answer and shrugged. "No idea."

"Keeping us safe maybe?" Costanza suggested. "To have a colony of humans somewhere other than Earth, in case something happened there?"

"Lab rats," Gaeta said, less optimistically. "They don't seem to _care_ about us all that much -- they let Kobol and the Colonies both be destroyed, while we wander around with the Cylons on our tails."

"The algae planet's star went nova for no particular reason," Sam reminded them. "It wasn't that old. Maybe that was their doing."

Silence fell after that, and Roslin exchanged a disturbed glance with Adama. "They can make a star explode? Strange, I felt it was a miracle of the gods, and yet it unnerves me to think of any beings having that sort of power at their disposal. But," she drew a deep breath, "we're out of it now, so I guess it doesn't matter anymore. Back to the issue at hand: Earth. Let's run a simple test and see if our visitors have seen Cylons before. Bring in Lieutenant Agathon, and let's see how they react."

Adama nodded. "Mister Gaeta, call Athena here."

While he did that, Roslin addressed Sam again, "And the commander? What are your impressions?"

"He volunteered to come here," Sam said, "which I didn't expect. And he was honest with me. We weren't there that long, but my impression of the station was that it seemed busy and prosperous."

She exchanged a glance with Adama, who nodded thoughtfully and said, "He's a risk-taker, a pilot. He keeps current on their version of the Viper from what he told me. He's not a bureaucrat."

"I'm sure we'll have to deal with them eventually," Roslin said, "but for now that should help us. I think we're ready."

Adama nodded to Gaeta to send the word to Helo. 

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ah those wacky Vorlons.


	6. Meetings

With Garibaldi at his heels, Sinclair followed Captain Agathon through the guarded corridors. This ship was an odd mixture of technologically primitive and advanced, and it all looked worn, with paint peeling from signage and deep scratches on the bulkheads.

It was unsettling to realize their signage was readable. He hadn't considered the fact that they spoke the same language all that strange, but seeing it written with only a few stylistic and spelling changes made him realize how impossible it should be. Either these people hadn't been away from Earth as long as they claimed, or someone had tampered with their language and culture a lot more than they believed.

Vorlons. But why the hell would the Vorlons care about the Colonies being able to talk to Earth at all? 

" _The children come home_ ," Kosh had said. So perhaps the Vorlons had always intend their colony to return to Earth, but why? And why now?

They entered a narrower, but less travelled corridor and he was not at all surprised to see 'Commander Quarters' on the placard beside the hatch, or the two marines guarding it. 

"Sir," they greeted Agathon and then one spun the wheel and pushed it open. "You can go right in." 

"This way," Agathon gestured and stepped aside.

The room on the other side of the hatch had a few new people in it. He recognized Anders, the Admiral, and Tigh. They'd added a younger man in uniform, and a few women civilians. He presumed the older one with the business suit was President Roslin. His theory was confirmed when she approached beside the Admiral, smiling. 

"Commander, this is the President of the Twelve Colonies, Laura Roslin," Adama introduced. 

"Jeffrey Sinclair," Sinclair introduced himself and held out a hand. She took it, and then held his hand between both hers. 

"Commander," she looked into his face warmly. "It's... a miracle that we came across your station. Thank you very much for agreeing to meet with us. It means a great deal to me and the Fleet."

"Of course. As I told Mister Anders, I'm here to see what I can facilitate for your resettlement. This is our station security Chief Michael Garibaldi."

She shook his hand and then introduced the dark-haired civilian woman at her side, "My aide, Tory Foster." 

She was more reserved than Roslin, but still smiled eagerly. "You're actually from Earth?" 

"Not from there, no. But I did attend school and flight training there. It's real, I assure you," he told her with an understanding smile.

The admiral next introduced the handsome young officer with the bright blue eyes, "The CAG and my son, Major Lee Adama." Sinclair shook hands with him.

"Commander, it's an honor," he said.

"Always a pleasure to meet a fellow pilot, Major," Sinclair said. "I look forward to getting a chance to look at your birds."

"I'd be happy to show you, sir. We have simulators as well, if you'd like to see how they fly," Lee offered.

"You'll never get him out," Garibaldi warned, and the pilots and former pilots chuckled.

"There's another you should meet," Roslin directed Sinclair's attention to the young woman officer standing nearby. 

"Lieutenant Sharon Agathon," Admiral Adama introduced. 

There was something in the room suddenly - the admiral was so very stolid, but it was as if everyone was holding their breath. Sinclair wondered what it was. Because she was of Asian descent? He hadn't seen any others on the ship so far, so perhaps it was unusual in the Colonies. He held out his hand to shake hers. "Lieutenant." Then he thought it might be simpler than that, and glanced at Captain Agathon then to her. "Agathon?" he repeated quizzically.

"My husband," she answered with a brief smile.

"Ah. I see." He thought about Catherine and hoped she'd be back soon. "You're very lucky to work together." 

"Very lucky," she agreed, with a little more weight to her words than he understood. 

He bet it was only because of the extraordinary and tragic circumstance they all found themselves in, that it was allowed at all - husband-wife and father-son serving on the same ship was not permitted in Earth Force and he presumed the same here. It was another glimpse of what their lives had become, after their homeworld had been destroyed, sending them on the run. 

Searching for something to break the ice, Sinclair went to the decorations on the desk. It was an odd mish-mash of cultural artifacts: all human but from all over Earth. On the wall was a large painting, surely of significance to the Admiral -- a depiction of the aftermath of a battle, with soldiers on the field, a ruined building, and flags flapping in the wind above it all. He took a step closer, frowning, realizing not all the helmets were the same -- there was one in prominence on top of the rock, with a different heavier helmet with eye slits, and that death seemed to be coded as symbolic with a large spear or bayonet through the body.

He nodded to himself. That was their enemy. That was the one that had caused this war ship to be built, and the one who had destroyed their world. He'd bet real money on it, except Garibaldi would never take it up, since he knew better than to bet against a sure thing. Now to wait until they told him about it.

He turned back toward the gathering. "You have very interesting things, Admiral. Some of these," he gestured to some of his decorative pieces and the book ends, "look as though they could come from Earth."

"They come from the Colonies," Adama said, a little stiffly.

"Oh, I believe you," Sinclair reassured him. "But this kind of cultural cross-pollination can't happen in a vacuum. You were isolated from Earth, but it seems not entirely."

"Sam mentioned them -- these beings called Vorlons?" Roslin said, and looked troubled. "But please, have a seat," Roslin invited, gesturing to the long table. "We have some refreshments. I had hoped for us to talk about where we go from here."

He took a seat with Garibaldi on his right and Anders to his left, Roslin directly across from him, with the Adamas to one side of her, the colonel and Foster on the other, and the Agathons split up, so Karl was next to Garibaldi and Sharon was on Anders' other side. 

A young man came through to pour drinks as another steward brought in crackers and deposited an apple, cut into tiny slices and presented in a flower formation, with a flourish.

That was all the food they brought. The group passed the snacks around the table. Anders took one apple slice but put it on Sharon's plate, saying, "I ate on the station. Give my piece to Hera."

She glanced at him, smiling, and touched his hand in gratitude. 

Sinclair watched, nibbled on his cracker and tasted pressed algae. These people had no food. That was certainly something he could help with. Even if Earth Alliance declined immediate aid, he could speak to Brother Theo on the station about getting together a private relief operation. 

He took the tiniest slice of apple he could for politeness' sake, and passed the plate to Garibaldi, who passed it to Tigh without taking any.

"Where we go from here..." Sinclair said to draw attention away from their meager offerings, not wanting to embarrass them. "Well, first, you should know I do not have final authority regarding your resettlement; I'm only a preliminary negotiator to gather information. Approval will have to come directly from the Earth Alliance Office of the President."

"I understand," Roslin said. "What can we do to speed the process up? Our people have been on these ships seeking a new world for almost three years now."

"You have my sympathies," Sinclair told her, "both for that and the loss of your homeworlds. We came close to that ourselves, and so I can imagine the horror... a little too well." He blinked back the memories of the Line, not wanting to get stuck there again. "But to answer your question -- normally, you might have to wait quite awhile for Earth Central's attention. But luckily you have something that will help you immensely. Your technology appears to have developed along a different path from ours. Your hyperspace technology, in a ship as small as your Raptor, is unknown to us. That, without any overstatement, is a very valuable commodity to everyone, not just Earth Alliance."

Shrewdly she looked at him for a moment, without speaking, then said, "I'm surprised you would tell us the value, and not make our gift of them a requirement of settlement."

"That may still happen," he pointed out, "I'm a station commander, not a policy maker. But I'd prefer you negotiate knowing the truth. However," he sipped his water, remembering Death Walker's intent to make eternal life into a feeding frenzy, "its value also means that other groups than Earth are going to be interested in it. They will want it for themselves and they won't want their enemies to have it. You may receive some extravagant offers for your people, in exchange for your jump drives."

Garibaldi snorted. "'May'? C'mon, remember how Alisa was offered wealth for life? The Narn will probably offer you a planet of gold for a way to get their Frazi-class fighters able to jump themselves."

"I would advise you look very closely at all the offers," Sinclair told them, dryly, "and the people making them."

"We're only interested in Earth," Roslin said.

Sinclair exchanged a glance with Garibaldi and then decided to give them the bad news. "Yes, well, that may not be possible. Earth is a very overcrowded place, and a single settlement of over 40,000 people is not going to happen there. You'll most likely have to be dispersed. Some perhaps to Earth, but there are also numerous Earth Alliance colonies looking for settlers. There's a possibility none of you will be able to settle on Earth."

"Even with our jump drives?" Adama asked.

Sinclair was about to answer, but Roslin held up a hand. "Wait. None at all? I can understand why overcrowding would prevent all of us, but why none?"

"This is merely my speculation," Sinclair cautioned. Roslin nodded her understanding, and he went on, "Twelve years ago, the Minbari-- another space-faring race - attacked Earth. They came very close to annihilating Earth itself, and killed thousands of people in the war. This experience has made many on Earth wary about not just Minbari, but any alien races."

"But we're human, not alien," Sam objected.

"You're a lost colony buried within the Vorlon Empire. And anyone who knows anything about Vorlons finds that downright bizarre at best, and suspicious at worst. People go into Vorlon space and they don't come out. Ever. Except you. That's going to worry people, and fearful people aren't the most rational."

"Oh, we know that," Captain Agathon said with wry, almost bitter understanding. "We definitely know that."

"Perhaps I'm overstating," Sinclair said, though he didn't think he was. Earth had turned more xenophobic since the Earth-Minbari war, and Narn expansionism had made it worse. Add Mars unrest and Santiago's platform moving more isolationist for the election, and it wasn't a great time to try moving forty thousand new human refugees anywhere near Earth. "But so you understand some of your human cousins aren't going to be embracing your arrival with open arms. You may seem... well, tainted by association, even if you're all human."

"So what are these Vorlons?" Foster asked. "Sam mentioned them but didn't know a lot."

"Nobody knows a lot," he answered. "They're very private. Ancient. Very powerful. They act a bit like the shepherds of the younger races."

"When they're not being vague on purpose," Garibaldi added. "Personally, I think they enjoy being cryptic, so they can feel superior. The fact they **are** superior is just annoying icing on the irritating cake."

Sinclair chuckled. "Kosh isn't that bad."

"Only you would think that, Commander," Garibaldi retorted.

Sinclair went on, explaining, "They wear encounter suits, supposedly because they need a different atmosphere. Their ships are organic technology, far in advance of anything Earth Alliance can do." 

They all twitched at that, and Roslin exchanged an uneasy glance with Adama and then at Lieutenant Agathon, who frowned.

He felt Garibaldi shift next to him, and knew he'd seen it, too. So Sinclair started probing, "You have encountered Vorlons, after all?"

"Organic technology is something we've run into before," Adama said, with a reproving glare at his officers to keep them quiet.

Next to Sinclair, Anders stirred to object, "Admiral-" 

"Not now," Roslin said. "We need to discuss it." Then with a transparent effort to get him and Garibaldi out of there, she said with a forced smile, "I'm sure you'd like to take a look at the _Galactica_. Meanwhile I can have Tory get you the breakdown of our population, since I'm sure you'll need that."

She stood up, leaving everyone else no choice but stand, too. 

"Helo," the admiral addressed Captain Agathon, "Escort our guests on a tour of the ship. The commander expressed an interest in our Vipers, make sure he gets to see one up close."

After a few polite expressions of meeting again later, Sinclair and Garibaldi followed Agathon out, and Sinclair hoped they decided to tell him the rest. 

* * *

As soon as the hatch shut behind their visitors, Sam voiced his objection, "We have to tell him about the Cylons. If nothing else, we have to warn Earth we're probably dragging them behind us."

"What makes you say that?" Tigh demanded. "Racetrack and Skulls frakked the coordinates; the toasters are heading for the nebula, if anyplace."

"Come on," Sam demanded impatiently, "isn't this New Caprica all over again? We pretend they won't find us, and they come back anyway? They're out there. And they're not going to wander around forever."

"It could be years, though," Roslin said. "They might not even come out in Earth territory. There are lots of other races, you said. Let someone else fight them." 

"No," Sam protested. "That's worse. What if the Cylons _ally_ with an enemy of Earth's? I saw dozens of non-human beings - not all of them can be friendly to Earth. They're not going to care what the Cylons did or what they are."

Roslin looked appalled at the idea that anyone would ally with the Cylons, but Sam knew it was possible. She hadn't seen all the aliens he had on the station, and didn't understand what a strange and amazing place it was yet. 

Sam took a breath to explain, "Look. I saw beings that had four limbs and a head, but with skin that looked like a lizards and red eyes. I saw Minbari, who look kind of like us in the face, but their ears are down here," he cupped his hands lower, "and they don't have hair, just big bony crests. And there were so many others... They're not going to care the Cylons aren't human, because these other things - people - aren't human either. We have to warn Earth. And we owe Sinclair the truth," Sam insisted.

Roslin clearly didn't like it, and he wasn't sure she would fully understand until she had a chance to see it for herself, but after a moment, she said, "You like him." 

"Yeah, so?" Sam retorted, stiffening angrily at the implication that he was somehow too cozy with the commander to be thinking rationally. "If you think my judgment's somehow not good enough--" 

She held up a hand to stop him. "I want your judgment, Sam," she said. "That's why I sent you. I just don't understand why you feel so strongly about telling him after only knowing him a short time."

Somewhat mollified, Sam leaned back in his chair. "He's been honest with me, and he was a lot more tolerant of a ship full of strangers with a bizarre story than any of us probably would be."

"He knows we're hiding something," Tory pointed out. "It seems to me we need his recommendation to his superiors. If he reports any reservations on our settlement request, it may go very badly for us."

Roslin looked briefly irritated by her own aide now opposing her. "If we tell them about a genocidal enemy we're bringing with us?" Roslin countered. "They'd be a fool to bring us to Earth, wouldn't they?" 

Sharon said, with an edge to her voice, "They're going to find out anyway. No lie is buried forever."

Sam touched her arm in consolation, knowing that was about Hera, still so raw a loss, even though the baby had been rescued. And Sharon was right; the truth was going to come out. Nobody on this ship was going to hold their tongue about Cylons, and better it come from the people in this room than some of the angrier members of the crew.

But that wasn't enough. Sam added, "Maybe this is what we need to stop them. These people have powerful weapons and ships; they can take on the Cylons a lot easier than we can."

Roslin looked at him. "And if they refuse to let us settle, not wanting to fight our battles?"

Lee pointed out, "They can't do that, or they risk us giving our jump drives to someone else."

"Even if that happened, maybe it wouldn't be so bad," Sam added with a shrug. "There are other worlds."

"They won't be Earth," Adama said.

"We can still make them home," Lee responded, quietly, and Sam nodded his agreement, surprised that they seemed to be on the same side. But he was right; what they wanted was a new home. That home didn't have to be "Earth", which may not want them anyway.

"All right," Roslin agreed with a nod and a heavy sigh. "Let me think on how best to talk about this, and I'll air our dirty laundry tomorrow. You did say we have at least that long before we need to return him to the station?"

"Yes," Sam agreed then smiled wryly. "I think we have a few days' grace." Though it was less the station and more Kara and Jean getting impatient that concerned him.

He hoped they were doing okay -- his stomach knotted at the thought that his two favorite people in the entire frakking galaxy were so far away and he couldn't do anything to help them if something went wrong. But, knowing them, they were probably having fun, while he was stuck in here, inexplicably involved in talking about the fate of the Fleet.

 _I'm just a p-ball player, what the frak am I doing here?_ _I ran away from toasters for two years. That doesn't qualify me as anyone important,_ he thought with a sigh.

Dropping his eyes to the top of Adama's table, wishing it was a bar and Kara was there with him, the tabletop disappeared. Infinite space and the colorful multitude of distant stars appeared. And _**something**_ passed across the starfield, swallowing the light and leaving only cold in its wake.

He flinched back, nearly tipping over his chair, and had to grab at the table to keep upright. 

"Sam?" Roslin looked at him. "You okay?"

He forced a smile, embarrassed. "Sorry." When he looked again, the table was the faux-woodgrain it had been before. It hadn't been real; it was a memory from last night's strange nightmare with Sue-Shaun. 

He had nearly forgotten about it. But now his heart was racing in unsubtle reminder, and he took a drink of water to dampen suddenly dry lips. 

Through all the conversation that followed, the image distracted him. And he realized he desperately didn't want to close his eyes and dream of that _thing_ again.

* * *


	7. Portents

Helo tried very hard to follow the implicit order to not tell their guests about the Cylons, even though it rankled on both a professional and personal level. Adama, he'd listen to, but Roslin's mere presence made him angry, and since she was the one pushing to hide the truth, he wanted out of spite to bring Sinclair to his quarters with Sharon and tell him everything. 

Luckily Sinclair stopped poking at the truth, though Helo had the feeling that was more out of pity than lack of interest.

Helo decided to distract them both with the flight deck, and Tyrol came to meet them. Wiping his hands on a cloth, he gave the newcomers a curious look and a nod to Helo, "Captain." 

Helo introduced the three and while they were shaking hands, he said, "Chief, the admiral wanted me to give the commander a chance to look at a Viper."

"Sure, that one's out for maintenance." He nodded to the nearest, with its guts out on the floor. "Have a look."

"Thank you, Chief," Sinclair said, and went toward it, eagerly. He inspected it nose to tail, and then climbed up the ladder to peek at the cockpit. "Can I sit inside?" he called down to Helo.

"Of course, sir," Helo answered, amused by the commander's enthusiasm. Viper jocks were apparently all the same.

Behind him, he heard Tyrol ask Garibaldi, "So, are you an engineer?"

Garibaldi chuckled. "Me? Nah. Security. I was a marine, got out after the war and did private security. I came back when the commander asked me to come to the station."

"So it's true then? About Earth?" Tyrol asked.

"It's real," Garibaldi confirmed. "More than that's above my pay grade."

Tyrol chuckled with understanding. "That's the truth."

"Hey, Commander?" Garibaldi called. "We've got a whole lot of ship still to look at."

Sinclair poked his head out of the cockpit. "Coming. As long as Captain Agathon can promise a visit to the simulator Major Adama mentioned. I want to see if this ship flies more like a Thunderbolt or a Starfury."

"Of course, sir." Helo wasn't sure how he could do that without talking about Cylons, since the route to the simulators went right past the remnants of the museum, but maybe tomorrow.

Eventually Sinclair emerged from the Viper and they all continued the tour of the ship, reaching CIC, where Gaeta was already back at his nav station and Helo introduced Dee. The commander seemed most interested in the nav table and the various console keys, brushing his hand along them as if he was having trouble believing they were real. 

Finally they ended up in Joe's, where Anders and Tyrol were already at the bar. "Hey, it's like Earhart's," Garibaldi remarked to Sinclair. Helo hoped their bar was better than Joe's with its rickety furnishings and mish-mash of decor. He noticed with a grin that the C-Bucs logo sign had migrated back to prominence above the mirror again. Sam denied ever touching it himself, and yet whenever any other team's sign went there, the C-Bucs logo always returned.

"Join us?" Sam asked. "Charlie, shots for our guests."

"Just water for me," Garibaldi demurred quickly.

The civilian behind the bar nodded and as he poured the shot out, asked, "So, is it true? You're from the Thirteenth Tribe?"

Sinclair frowned. "No," he answered, and glanced at Sam. "At least I don't think so?"

"We don't know how Kobol fits into anything yet," Sam answered for him. "We found a lot of humans out here, though. So that's the good news."

"At least they're not toasters," Charlie sneered. Helo stiffened in offense at the slur.

"Charlie," Sam warned.

"It's still wrong," Charlie muttered, not looking at Helo, and then wandered off. 

"Toasters?" Garibaldi repeated curiously.

"President Roslin will explain tomorrow," Sam told them and looked as dissatisfied by the delay as Helo felt. "Until then, relax, enjoy as much of our skimpy hospitality as you can, and hopefully we'll get back to the station tomorrow."

"Since I see you're in good hands," Helo told the visitors, "I need to get to my quarters; it's time to put my daughter to bed."

"Good night, Helo, thanks for escorting us around," Sinclair told him.

People stopped Helo a few times looking for confirmation of the rumors about the new arrivals. He put them off promising an announcement from Roslin tomorrow, after the command staff had investigated some more, but answering that yes, it seemed that the Fleet had encountered another group of Humans. It was good to get back to his quarters and shut the hatch.

The lights were low and Sharon was sitting on the couch, with Hera asleep in her arms. Helo paused to watch them, smiling at the sight. After all the recent fear and anguish of their lives, it felt like such a miracle to have both of them back.

Sharon's eyes opened and smiled back at him. She stood up and he kissed Hera's soft cheek, before Sharon put her down in her bed.

"Sometimes I still can't believe she's really here," Sharon whispered.

He wrapped his arms around her from behind and she leaned against him, while they both watched their daughter sleep. "Me neither," he agreed and inhaled the fragrance of her hair that somehow, even after a change of bodies to rescue Hera, still held a faint whiff of Caprica forests to him. 

They watched Hera for several minutes in silence, until Sharon murmured, "I was thinking..."

"Hm?" He prompted, when she trailed off. "About Earth? That we're almost there? It seems a miracle that we get Hera back and now we've met people who come from Earth. It's all coming true."

She shook her head then changed her mind, "Well, yes, that, too, but right now, I'm trying to remember something.... And it keeps sliding away from me."

"Remember what?" he asked.

She turned in his arms to face him. "When I looked at Commander Sinclair...he looked familiar to me," she admitted.

Helo stiffened. That could really only mean one thing. "He's a Cylon?"

"No. I don't know. I don't think so," she added with a troubling uncertainty. "It's very frustrating but I think I've seen him before." Her face scrunched up adorably as she tried to remember. "I don't think they're my memories. But if they're not mine and they're not Boomer's, I never accessed any others, I don't know where they could come from." She frowned in confusion and irritation. "It makes no sense."

Helo wasn't sure what he could offer that might help. "Wouldn't you be sure if he was a Cylon?" 

She shook her head against his shoulder. "The Final Five... they're different," she answered. "Mythical almost. It's hard to think about them. But... no. That's not it." She pulled away with a determined breath and squaring her shoulders. "You know what? Never mind. You're right; I would know. I feel like I've seen a picture of him in a _book,_ him but not him, and that's ridiculous. Everyone was waiting for him to recognize me, maybe I was thinking about it too hard."

"He certainly didn't know about you," Helo agreed. "And I'd hate to accuse someone of being a Cylon without a lot more proof."

"Of course not. So we need to keep this between us," she said. "But still... there's something about him. It's not an accident he's here, I don't think."

Helo glanced down at Hera and then back at his wife, wondering how much of any of this was an accident, if ancient near-omnipotent aliens or the Lords of Kobol or the Cylon god or all the above, were orchestrating events. "Well, he's with Sam and Chief right now at Joe's. They'll keep an eye on him."

She twined her fingers in his and tossed her hair back over her shoulder with a definite change of subject in mind. "She's asleep. We're both off-duty. I think we should take advantage."

Caressing her smooth skin and kissing her soft lips, he decided she had very good ideas.

* * *

Their first day of the visit was done and Sinclair was ready to get some sleep. This ship's clock was about two hours off the station's and it was late for him. Though the drinking at Joe's probably hadn't helped. 

Unfastening his tunic, he asked, "So? What do you think?"

"Other than the fact they know full well what attacked them and it's still somewhere on their tail?" Michael answered dryly. "Because I am _thrilled_ with the idea of enemies who destroy whole planets, let me tell you."

"That's bad enough," Sinclair agreed. But he'd started to get the idea that it was much worse than that. Ever since the Admiral's quarters and realizing the very wrong-ness about the language, he'd come to some rather terrible conclusions.

Michael waved for him to get on with it and headed for the sink to wash his face. "You think there's something worse? Worse than a race as powerful as the Centauri, if not the Minbari, and we know nothing about them?"

"I don't know if it's worse, and maybe I drank too much of that awful moonshine they pass off as alcohol, but ... " he stopped speaking, uncertain whether he wanted to put words to it or not. It felt as if that would make it real somehow; if he kept it in his head, it would remain only a possibility.

Michael looked back over his shoulder. "Jeff, spit it out." 

He hung the tunic on the back of his chair and sat on the edge of the cot. "Vorlons brought all those people from Earth into their territory. They hid them there and yet didn't do a damn thing to help them. I find that disturbing."

Michael snorted and dried his face and hands on the small towel. "Course not. They don't go to Council meetings; why would they want to stop billions of humans from getting killed? They don't interfere," he rolled his eyes. "Except when we want to be immortal and then it's all "you're too young" and boom." He slapped his hands together, smashing an imaginary ship like a mosquito, and wiped his hands on his trousers.

Sinclair couldn't help a chuckle because Michael was right, but then he shook his head. "That's not what I meant. Of course, I don't like that part, but... these people are their pet project. I doubt anything happens in Vorlon space, especially nothing this big, that they don't have a hand in."

Garibaldi sat across from him on the other bunk, his eyes a little wide in surprise. "You think they did it themselves?"

"Not directly. I'm sure Sam or one of them would've mentioned if they'd seen Vorlon vessels before, but think about it: the admiral has artifacts in his quarters that must have come from Earth. I could believe some parallel development, but a Japanese samurai helmet that looks like it came from Catherine's family home? No. The Vorlons influenced the Colonies to be as similar to us as possible. Hell, they speak our language with less accent than someone from Proxima. Which means...." He trailed off and Garibaldi nodded slowly, putting it together in the same way.

"They must've intended for them to come back."

"Right. Kosh told me, when I went to see him, " _the children come home'._ Which I took as confirmation they were human. But what if that's what the Vorlons wanted, and they set it up?" 

"But why?" 

"I don't know. But you don't write off a billion people as collateral damage to your plan unless that plan is pretty damn important." He remembered what else Kosh had told him was coming: ' _Into fire. Storm. Darkness. Death._ ' He felt a chill slide across his skin.If that was his future, what the hell were these people bringing with them? 

For a moment the small room was silent, as both sat deep in their own thoughts. "Vorlons are annoying and secretive," Michael said slowly, "no doubt about that. And I don't doubt you're right they've been interfering in these Colonies for a thousand years, but... I don't know, they don't seem interested enough in us lesser folk to bother." Then he made a disgusted grimace and shook his head. "I bet they heard about the attack, shrugged, and continued doing whatever the hell Vorlons do when they're not being cryptic. We know nothing about them or their territory, and they want it that way. All we can do about it is keep on doing what we were doing -- which is hoping they help out, but not being surprised when they don't." 

Sinclair nodded and let out a breath, bending down to pull off his boots. Trust Michael to get at the heart of the matter. There was no way to understand the Vorlons because the Vorlons didn't want to be understood, so he would probably never know their motives for taking humans from Earth and then allowing them to mostly die, millennia later.

In the darkness after the lights were out, Michael's voice floated to him from the opposite cot. "Don't think I haven't noticed your obsession with getting into their Viper. And the answer is no, hell no, and over my dead body."

Sinclair laughed. "Get some sleep, Michael."

"Oh, damn it, that means you're gonna do it anyway," he groused.

Sinclair was still smiling as he closed his eyes and tried to clear his mind, breathing deeply to settle himself to sleep.

* * *

Not far away from the two visitors, Sam stared at the underside of Easy's bunk above Kara's and slid the tag on its cord through his fingers, running his thumb over her name. 

His whole body was numb and his mind pleasantly buzzed from the fake ambrosia at Joe's, but still he resisted sleeping, not drunk enough to pass out as he'd wanted.

After Costanza and Racetrack clanged their way back into their racks and the room went quiet, his eyes shut of their own accord.

Only a second seemed to pass before he opened his eyes again and found himself back in the middle of homecourt in Caprica City. The bright lights bathed him from above, but all around the dim hulking shapes of the seats rising upward to the high ceiling were silhouetted in a violet glow. For the first time in the arena, he felt as if he was at the bottom of a hole in the ground.

He felt eyes watching him from somewhere, like a breath on the back of his neck, and spun, peering into the dark. "Who's there?" he called. "Come out and show yourself!"

No one was there.

A scuffling sound behind him made him whirl around, finding his knife in his hand. But there was nothing but fingers of shadow stretched along the floor at the base of the front row of seats.

He glanced up, but there was nothing that could be casting the shadows.

The shadow was growing, like a black ink spreading across the wooden floor toward him. But it was a darkness that had no reflection, no shine, only nothingness. He stepped back, knowing he couldn't let it touch him. He retreated, and still the darkness flowed towards him.

A chill at his back warned him in time to turn and see it was on the floor behind him, oozing in from every direction, drowning the light all around him. He threw his knife, but it fell into the dark and was gone without a sound.

He was trapped. His heart lurched into pounding and he looked frantically for a way out.

Another bright light caught his eyes upward. Kara was standing at the railing of the balcony level, her bright hair glimmering golden as light shone on her from above as well. She was looking down at him, but with no expression on her face that he could see. He saw the same darkness flowing toward her along the wall, and soon she too would be surrounded. 

"Kara! Run!" he yelled. "Get out! Get away, they're here!" He stepped toward her, wanting to go to her, but his foot went into ... nothing. There was no floor, and suddenly he was falling into an endless void. There were no stars, only intense cold that wrapped around him like something alive.

It froze his bones, intense pain deep inside, but worse was the feeling of ice needles in his head, first one and then another, and another, without pause. Each pain piercing him was sharp on its own, and together unbearable.

"No!" He tried to scream, but there was something pressing his throat, and he couldn't breathe. No matter how he thrashed, he couldn't get it off.

He had to get free... 

His head struck the bottom of Easy's rack before he realized he was awake. "Ow! Frak!" He held his head, panting, then, desperate for air, he yanked back the curtain and swung his legs out to sit up.

Costanza peered down at him. "You okay?"

Sam combed through his hair and rubbed at the back of his neck. "Fine. Just a dream."

At least he hoped it was. He remembered every detail of it, and touched his throat. It hurt to swallow, and his skin felt bruised and throbbing. 

He held Kara's dogtag and prayed silently for it to be a dream, because if she was in danger there was nothing he could do to help. 


	8. Overnight

After dinner at Ivanova's, the lieutenant commander brought her 'hostages' to the casino, which was exactly Kara's kind of place. The games of pure chance didn't interest her but it didn't take long to learn poker, which was very similar to triad, and by midnight she'd won a stack of credits, enough to return Ivanova's stake.

But Ivanova and Barolay had wandered off and Kara didn't feel like searching for them. So she went to the bar instead and started trying drinks.

A deep voice, with an odd accent said beside her, "You are from the lost human colony, I believe?"

Kara turned and flinched at the sight of the red eyes and spotted skull. Aliens. She was never getting used to the aliens, especially the ones who looked like enormous Tauron dracon lizards walking around and talking. It was the talking intelligently -- politely -- that seemed the most astonishing. After she'd taken a breath, she answered, "I am. Captain Thrace."

He brought both fists to his chest and nodded his head in a respectful greeting. "I am Ambassador G'Kar of the Narn Regime."

"Ambassador." She held in a sigh, silently cursing Sam again for leaving her with all this crap. "I need to tell you I have no authority to negotiate, sorry. You'll have to wait for our ambassador to come back."

"I see." He gestured to the bartender to bring him a drink, and then he turned to her again. "You seem alone. Perhaps we could merely be drinking companions and talk for a little while?"

"Sure," she shrugged. "Why not?"

His drink was bright purple and gave off a whiff of gun cleaning fluid. Kara wrinkled her nose and decided she wouldn't be trying that one. 

"Do you know much about my people?" he asked.

"Nope," she answered. "Not a thing."

"We were farmers," he answered. "Simple people. Until the Centauri conquered us, in their expansionism. I don't know if you can imagine this, but we lived in misery for generations - enslaved to Centauri whim." The biting hatred in his voice made a chill slip down her back, and it found its echo in her, remembering New Caprica. How the Cylons had taken her and stripped her away layer by layer, until sometimes it had seemed there was nothing left but anger.

"I can imagine," she answered flatly, and emptied her glass.

G'Kar's red eyes settled on her and he nodded once in understanding. "Did you rise up and fight your oppressors as well?" G'Kar asked. "That is what we did. Every Narn from childhood, was taught to fight, to be free, and take back what belonged to us. And in the end, we won our freedom."

She nodded slowly, imagining New Caprica having lasted years, and onto generations. She imagined little Nicky Tyrol growing up under the Cylons "guidance" -- Chief and Cally would have taught him to keep up the fight. Roslin and Tory would've ensured Hera grew up that way, too, unless the Cylons had found out her true identity. She tried to imagine Sam -- would he have found someone else eventually and had a kid to raise into resistance, too? But the picture wouldn't come together; he was too much of a fighter. He would never have lived long enough. But none of it had happened, because the Old Man and Lee had come, and they'd escaped out to space.

"We didn't win our freedom; we ran away," she said. "That's why we're here."

"Interesting that the Vorlon permitted such a thing," he said and lifted his hand to get another drink. "They prize their secrecy, and yet here you are, capable of telling tales about their territory." 

She shrugged. "We didn't even know they existed before we came here. We have nothing to tell."

"Still. I would be cautious," he advised. "They are too powerful to be truly benevolent."

"I'll keep that in mind." Then she turned to him, trying to smile. "So I should watch out for the Centauri and the Vorlons -- what's everyone else going to warn me about, when it comes to the Narn?" 

He chuckled and lifted his glass to her in appreciation for turning it back on him. "They will say we are aggressive and think only of revenge. Some have accused us of being mercenaries." 

"Nothing wrong with fighting," Kara said.

"No, there is not," he agreed. "We are a strong, young race, looking for our rightful place, made strong by all we have endured."

"And you, Ambassador?" Kara asked. "What are people going to tell us about you?"

He hesitated and then leaned toward her to murmur, "Some will spread scandalous rumors about how I spend my nights with human females."

Her eyes widened in shock. "With you?" 

"I have learned a lot I would show you, Captain Thrace," he offered.

She stared. "I -- are you really asking me to ... to sleep with you?" she demanded incredulously. "To hook up? To... to frak? Seriously?"

"If you are interested, I am interested, and it would be a good thing to bond our peoples," he said, cheerfully, then he leaned closer and confided with what could only be a wicked gleam in his eye, "I have found some Human females are very pleasantly adventurous."

"I'm very adventurous," she smiled a little flirtatiously. With a touch of true regret, though not because she wanted to frak someone who looked like a lizard but because he seemed fun, she added, "I'm also very married. Sorry." 

"Ah, well," he inclined his head to her in a rather courtly fashion, and not upset by the refusal. "It is my loss, and your mate's gain. Do you think your red-headed companion would be interested instead?"

Kara spluttered her drink back into the glass. "Barolay?" Then, remembering how Jean had glared at her over Sam, Kara smiled at G'Kar. "Maybe she would be. Why don't you go talk to her? But be a little more subtle. She takes awhile to warm up."

"Thank you for your advice."

Choking back a laugh, Kara saluted him with her glass. "No problem. Have fun."

She watched him walk away, eager to find Barolay, and snickered into her glass. She couldn't wait to see Jean's reaction.

She sipped her martini with the fruity essence and made a face. Too sweet. She considered the display behind the bar. Somewhere in all those bottles had to be the Earther version of ambrosia, whatever they called it.

"Good evening," a voice said at her elbow. Kara valiantly held back a sigh from being audible, wishing they'd just leave her alone.

She took a deep breath and turned. "What?" she asked.

"Captain Thrace, isn't it?" The black haired man wasn't someone she'd yet met. He looked human, pale skin with dark eyes, and a charming smile that immediately put her back up. It wasn't that the smile didn't touch his eyes-- it seemed to touch nothing at all.

But still, she had to be polite. Damn Sam, anyway. She took a swallow of her drink. "That's right. And you are?"

"Morden," he answered, still with that smile. "I represent a group very interested in what your people have to offer."

"You and everybody else," she responded, rolling her eyes.

"I assure you what you have to offer us is not limited to technology," he told her. 

"Oh, really," she answered, flatly. "Well, sorry to tell you, you've wasted your time. I'm here waiting as a hostage for the commander, and I don't have the authority. You'll have to wait until Secretary of State Anders comes back."

"He was the tall one?" Morden asked.

She smirked at that description and nodded. "Yeah, the tall one. He'll be back tomorrow or maybe the next day. You can negotiate with him."

"We'll be sure to speak to him, too," Morden promised, seeming remarkably un-affected by her brush-off. "But indulge me for a moment. I'll buy you a drink," he offered and signaled the bartender to pour her another glass and one for himself, as he perched on the stool beside her. 

She shrugged. "Okay. Your choice."

"My associates are curious about what you want."

"What I want?" she repeated. "You mean, me personally?"

"You. If you could have anything the universe, my associates can give it to you, in exchange for your... support of our aims. Anything at all. So, what do you want?"

'Anything in the universe' was a lot to promise in return for very little, and she knew triad too well to be pulled in by such a sucker bet. There was a catch in there, someplace, and she had no interest in getting hooked into his scheme.

She shrugged and grinned, "I want to drink real booze and eat real food. Learn to fly one of those Starfuries. And have sex with my husband. Not necessarily in that order," she added, acting deliberately saucy, while she watched his face.

But he seemed only mildly put off by her words. He curled a hand around his glass but didn't pick it up. "Is that all? Nothing... grander?" he asked. "What do you really want, Kara Thrace?"

Their eyes met, and a chill slipped down her back and the hairs on her arms stood up. His eyes seemed so flat and ... empty. Something inside her clenched up and warned her not to talk to him any more. "I want," she said, softly, leaning closer to him as if she was going to whisper a secret. He leaned in to listen, and there was an eagerness to him that made her feel as if hostiles were staring at the back of her neck. "I want you to frak off and let me enjoy my drink in peace."

Then she sat back and picked up her drink again.

He straightened and looked disappointed. "Such small wants," he said.

She shrugged. "I'm a simple girl."

He stood. "I'm sorry to hear that." He walked away, and Kara turned on the stool to watch him leave. 

As soon as he disappeared through the door, she let out a breath and realized her hand was clutching the tumbler so tightly her fingers were aching. 

Then she realized the bastard had stuck her with his untouched drink and the bill for both. "Son of a bitch!" 

* * *

Doctor Franklin hummed to himself as he worked. He checked on the Markab in post-op and she was doing well, so he went to his office to take a break and then grab a bite in the mess.

There was a patiently blinking light on his terminal that reminded him his analyses were finished on the humans from the lost distant colony.

He sat down and punched up the results. They were human, and not quite modern - there had been some drift, as he had expected. Feeling very curious, he sent for some anthropological results for comparison, but he was fairly sure that they had been isolated from Earth's genetic shifts for at least a thousand years, which wasn't exactly a shock, but certainly interesting. A _long_ lost colony indeed.

There was, however, a notation that one of the samples had been rejected from the average because of contamination. He pulled it up to look at in more detail.

What the hell? How had silicates got into the sample?

Intrigued he continued to work - testing and experimenting. The lure of scientific discovery kept him going all night, running more and more experiments and the results continued to pour in. 

The blood sample gave a perfect O-Neg, but an hour later, molecular analysis confirmed it was bogus. Electron microscopy and nuclear staining took a few more hours, but the results were even more astonishing. By 0400, he sat at his computer and stared at the display, knowing the answer. He needed more samples to prove it, but he knew it was true. 

Four of the new arrivals were as human as Stephen himself, if a bit drifted sideways. But the fifth was not. He mimicked them almost perfectly, but the readouts were certain: at the molecular level, Samuel T. Anders was made of the same stuff as a Vorlon ship.

He was Vorlon technology walking around. It was a nearly perfect imitation of human, including damage from a lung infection. He would age over time, and Stephen suspected he had grown up, as his bones were real and showed indications of healing and growth. Even his genes seemed human, right down to the DNA, but they weren't functional for cellular division. Instead, there were some kind of complex silicate nanobots taking the place of mitochondria and replication in his cells. It was a scientific bonanza.

Stephen's hands were shaking as he lifted his link to contact the commander, and then put his hand down. Sinclair wasn't on station, and Stephen didn't want to tell anyone else. Ivanova might feel duty-bound to tell Earth Dome. Sinclair might too, but Stephen knew he would think very hard about it first.

Because Sinclair knew as well as Stephen did, if not even more so, that there were parts of Earth Force and Earth Gov, who would do anything to study this technology. Some might not care that it was housed in a sentient being, who seemed to believe he was human.

Which was bad enough to think about, except the last time the Vorlons had thought the lesser races might be getting technology too advanced for them, they had destroyed an entire ship and killed everyone aboard. The Vorlons might not let this information get out. They might not want their creation to know the truth either.

It was all too big for Stephen to handle on his own. 

He encoded his files and then password locked them to his eyes only. When he took a nap, it was full of nightmares of horrifying medical experiments, but the victims changed from moment to moment. But the one performing the experiments was always himself.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> haha - I love early season G'kar so much! Such a smooth operator. 
> 
> Morden and Sam - oh no. What does it mean? What do you think?


	9. A Brief History of the Cylon War

Admiral Adama, Roslin, Foster, and Anders were waiting when Sinclair and Garibaldi followed Helo to a large hatchway.

Sinclair realized they were on the starboard side of the ship and by the signage, they were outside the Flight Deck. 

"Good morning," Roslin greeted them with a smile. "I hope you slept well?"

"Fine, thanks," Sinclair answered.

She looked rested as well, even if there was a false quality to her smile as if she didn't want to be there. Anders, though, looked as if he'd slept poorly; his hair was sticking up in uncombed spikes, and he rubbed his eyes when he thought no one was looking. Though with the amount he'd had to drink last night, Sinclair wasn't surprised he was hungover.

Sinclair looked around curiously. "This wasn't part of the tour yesterday." 

"No," Adama agreed. He hesitated and glanced at Roslin before explaining, "This ship was due to be retired three years ago. Instead of being scrapped however, _Galactica_ was going to be made into a museum of our war with the Cylons."

"The race that destroyed the Colonies," Garibaldi guessed.

Roslin nodded. "Yes. On the very day this ship was going to be dedicated, forty years after the end of the last war, they came back."

Adama nodded to Helo to open the hatch. "We still have some of the displays. There's a hull breach we could only patch, so the atmosphere's thin and it's cold inside. We can't stay too long."

Sinclair nodded his understanding, as the situation was made plain when the air rushed past him into the flight deck, trying to equalize the pressure. Helo brought up the rear to shut the hatch again.

The lights came on as the group entered, flickering row by row, but not getting as bright as the other deck. There were broken display cases piled together, including a large model of the battlestar itself, but Adama led the way past it.

Roslin explained, adopting a lecturing tone, "About fifty years ago, the Twelve Colonies were not at peace, not united. We fought against one another. At that same time, technology was growing more advanced, and the people didn't want to do dangerous or filthy jobs, including fight wars, and so they made machines to fight for them."

"They built the Cylon Centurion. This," Adama said behind them, and Sinclair turned to find a tall clear display case, and inside was an armored humanoid... being.

"A robot," Garibaldi said and shook his head. "And let me guess, you made them so smart they became sentient, and they didn't want to be slaves anymore."

"This happened on Earth?" Roslin asked, looking disturbed but not surprised.

"No," Sinclair answered. "But we've had many popular entertainments over the last few centuries warning us about the possibility. Many have tried to create full AI, but not successfully."

"You've been lucky then," Roslin added. "But you're right, Mister Garibaldi, the Centurions rebelled, and began to fight us, instead of each other. The war lasted ten years until they stopped. They withdrew and we heard nothing about them for forty years."

"Why?" he asked. "Why did they stop?" 

"No one knows," she answered. "Negotiations for the Armistice Treaty were handled at a distance, and they never gave a reason. But it wasn't because they were losing."

Sinclair felt queasy. Abrupt, mysterious cessation of hostilities by a more-powerful attacker echoed another event in his own past. The Minbari had stopped, too, on their eve of victory. The mystery of it had haunted him long before he'd learned he was, somehow, the cause for the Minbari withdrawal.

... _restrained within a dark cavernous space, half-blinded by a bright light shining on him, and hooded figures all around..._

He blinked the memory away and his gaze met Garibaldi's. He could see they were thinking the same thing -- there were no coincidences. Not with the Vorlons around.

"Over here is a modern Centurion. They've changed in the intervening years." Adama led the way to where another robot form had collapsed against another crumpled display case. It had been shot several times, dulling the chrome exterior. Thinner and taller, less human-seeming, it had a menacing look to its face-plate and one limb ended in a weapon, while the other ended in extra-long spidery fingers.

"Looks... impressive," Sinclair said, glad he wasn't facing one of these in the dark.

"Killer robots. That's just great. How many of these are following you?" Garibaldi asked.

Adama hesitated. "We don't know. Many."

"The number's somewhat meaningless in any case," Roslin added. "The thing that makes the Cylons so horrifying isn't that they're killing machines, though they are. It's that they don't die."

"This one looks plenty dead, or you'd have shoved it out the airlock," Garibaldi said.

"They can download their memories into new bodies. As long as they're in range of their baseships, they're immortal."

Sinclair nodded slowly, thinking it through. "So they learn?" 

"Right."

"And obviously they must have many of these baseships or you'd have taken them out," Garibaldi observed.

"We haven't seen the entire Cylon fleet since the original attacks," Adama answered heavily. "There were multiple baseships for each colony. So they're out there somewhere. Certainly thousands of these and their fighter craft. Possibly millions."

Sinclair felt a sinking in his gut. No wonder they'd been trying to keep this information to themselves as long as possible. Possibly millions of hostiles... Earth Force was going to have a collective aneurysm over the news. "Heading for Earth?" Sinclair asked.

"Yes. They know the Thirteenth Tribe settled there," Roslin said. "But the jump that led us to you was a mistake. They're going a different way."

"I'm going to need a projection of that course," Sinclair said. 

"I'll have Mister Gaeta give it to you," Adama said and passed it on to Helo to do with a glance.

Sinclair looked at the fallen Cylon, thinking. "Earth Dome, the central command of Earth Alliance, isn't going to like this news. We're only ten years after our own brush with total war with the Minbari, and that's left a lot of people afraid, weary, and hostile to any other race. News that someone else's genocidal enemy, one you made yourselves no less, is coming for us is going to be received very poorly." Garibaldi snorted at the dry understatement. He knew as well as Sinclair did what the reception from Earth Dome was likely to be. "There are going to be some who will convince themselves if we turn you away, we'll also turn these Cylons from us."

"That won't happen," Roslin said. "They're going to Earth."

"I understand that," Sinclair said. "But I'm afraid that's not going to matter to some people. I'll try to emphasize the humanitarian need of your people. But ... I can basically guarantee settlement on Earth itself will be completely out of the question."

Roslin inhaled a deep breath and then let it out with a sad nod. "I understand. The news is going to come hard for the Fleet, after everything."

"I'm sorry, but I don't think false hope is going to help anyone."

After a short silence, Anders stirred from where he was leaning against the empty base of another broken display case. "There's more."

Adama and Roslin both looked at him, as if they wished he'd never opened his mouth, and Garibaldi gave a short laugh. "Of course there is."

"You can't leave it there. They have to know the rest of it," Anders insisted. He faced Sinclair and laid it out. "When the Cylons came back, they didn't come only in the chrome-job variety," he gestured toward the fallen robot, "some came back looking human. They infiltrated the Colonies and brought down the defenses from the inside."

Garibaldi spoke first, staring at him in incredulous dismay, "You're telling me not only do we have maybe millions of war machines heading for Earth, intending to destroy it, but they can look human? And you weren't going to tell us?"

"We were--" Roslin started.

But Garibaldi overrode her objection, interrupting, "Eventually? Maybe? Someday after they were already in Earth sector? Thousands, maybe millions, of human-looking infiltrators? They had to be pretty good androids to fool your people, and now you're telling me these things are going to head into Earth and we won't be able to tell the difference? Do you have any idea of the paranoia that's going to unleash in Earth Alliance?"

At first Sinclair let Garibaldi rant, to let him get it out, but then he touched Garibaldi's shoulder. "Michael."

He subsided with an angry breath. 

Now that he could get in a word, Adama explained, "It's not as bad as that. There are multiple copies, but only seven models that any of us have ever encountered. We can give you photos. You've already met one. Lieutenant Agathon."

Now that was a surprise. Sinclair thought back to the young-seeming lieutenant he'd met yesterday. He certainly had no idea she wasn't human - the touch of her skin had felt human against his. "She's a Cylon?" Then he blinked, remembering what Agathon had said last night. "Wait. You two have a daughter?"

"Yes, her name is Hera," he answered, shooting a glare at Roslin as he came closer. "She's the only child of both peoples. Sharon left the Cylons so we could be together."

Well, that certainly put a different slant on the whole situation. Since Adama - who didn't strike him as a gullible person - had given Sharon a commission in his own fleet, Sinclair figured she was highly trusted, despite her background. That implied something else, despite their emergence from a machine-culture, she had chosen to leave it. "So they're not a collective," Sinclair said.

"They are," Roslin said and then admitted, with a twist of her lips as though she hated saying the words, "But yes, it seems that a few Cylons, with enough interaction with humans, learn to be more human-like."

Sinclair wondered how non-human they actually were if they were capable of interbreeding without genetic engineering. That implied something closer to cloning than anything he'd consider cybernetic. Yet, if there was a process to make them, there could be more. "Since they made these seven models, why can't they make others you can't identify?"

That brought them up short, and Roslin and Adama exchanged a glance. "We don't know if they can or not."

"What does your wife say?" Sinclair asked Helo, on top of Garibaldi's groan. 

Helo answered, "She's never seen any others. There are supposedly five more, the Cylons call them the Final Five, but as far as Sharon knows, they were never made."

"So those five and who knows how many more could be infiltrating Earth right now," Garibaldi said with disgust.

"They don't know where Earth is," Roslin reminded them. "They're using the navigational markers the Thirteenth Tribe left behind in their exodus from Kobol, same as we were. Our pilot found you by a malfunction in the jumpdrive."

Adama and Anders both nodded, so Sinclair decided he had to trust that evaluation. Not that Earth Dome was likely to give a damn, though.

"All right, I’ll need to bring back an idea of where that projected course may end up. And I'd like to speak to Sharon myself," he said. "And any other Cylon you may have aboard."

Roslin and Adama exchanged a look, and she said, "Of course. There's a model six in the brig, but the others we have only pictures."

"Good. And another thing, I want to get out and see some of the other ships. It's obvious your fleet needs food, but I'd like to get a feel for any other urgent needs."

The request seemed to take Roslin a little by surprise, but she nodded, "If you'd like. But first, I have a request of you in return. I'm going to need to address the fleet about what we've found. I'd like you to be there, and address them as well. "

He figured that was a fair request. "I'm not much of a public speaker, but I'll do my best," he agreed.

She smiled at his demur. "Oh, Commander, I think your best will be very good. So, while you meet with the two Cylons, I'll have Tory set up the press conference _._ "

On the way out, Sinclair turned his head back to look at the older Cylon Centurion in the case, wondering at the impulse to make AI. His mother had done some work on the early literature of the question of sentience and why humanity had worried so much about AI getting out of control. Yet here was an example of where that fear had proved founded. 

"That's not the scary one, Commander," Garibaldi murmured, following his gaze.

Sinclair shook his head, disagreeing. "Oh, I don't know about that. It's the one that rebelled. It's the one that was the most angry."

And although he didn't say it aloud, he wondered whether it was the one who had been manipulated by the Vorlons into getting angry again. 

* * *

Sinclair and Garibaldi waited with Anders, in the small conference room. 

The two Agathons entered first, both in uniform. Sinclair looked at her closely, as she came in, and shared a glance with Garibaldi. Even knowing the truth, she looked absolutely human. 

She approached them. "I'm sorry for the deception, earlier. They wanted to know if you'd seen other Cylons before."

"I understand. You two have a child together, right? So you're quite close to human biologically?"

"Almost identical," she flashed a bit of a wry smile. "Blood, bone, organs, are all the same. It's only in our molecular base and some small details."

The hatch opened again, for guards bringing in another woman. She was wearing civilian clothes of a halter-top and black slacks, and she had very light hair and a strikingly beautiful face. She was also manacled, and the guards had her sit down at the table before Helo dismissed them. 

She gazed up at Sinclair and Garibaldi. 

"I'm Commander Jeffrey Sinclair of the Earth station Babylon 5," he introduced himself and her lips parted at first in amazement and then for a wide smile. 

"Earth! Then it's true. We've found it." 

"Well, not quite, my station is some distance away, but yes, you're much closer than you were. Do you have a name?"

"Caprica," she answered with a glance at Sharon and Helo as if to see whether they approved. "Caprica Six." 

Michael was staring, Sinclair noticed with an inner grin, but then he'd always had a thing for blondes and there was no denying she was beautiful. If all the Cylons were as attractive as these two, it was really no wonder they were dangerous. 

He nudged Garibaldi as he passed to get to the chair. "So you're a model six, then. And there are only twelve … models?" 

"There are only seven, really. The others…" she gave a tight shrug, "I don't know."

"Helo said you think they were never made?" he prompted. 

The Cylons exchanged a glance and Sharon answered, "The Final Five are... gone. Or dead. Or never existed at all. Mythical.”

The Six added with a shrug of her bare shoulders. “One for each of the Twelve Colonies, I would guess was the plan, but not finished." 

"But couldn't there be more?" Sinclair asked. "Why not make more? If your people can, why not?"

That seemed to take them as much by surprise as it had the others in the hangar deck museum. Strange that they were all so complacent about the thought that there might be more. 

"I…" Sharon started to answer and frowned. "No. We can't."

Caprica added, "We were made by the creator. By God. We didn't make ourselves."

Sinclair's insides tightened up. _Vorlons._ It all went back to the damn Vorlons, it had to. What the _hell_ were they up to? 

So he wasn't surprised when neither Caprica or Sharon seemed to have a very good understanding of _why_ they'd gone to war against the humans. They both understood now it was wrong, but it was clear they'd had no such reservations before - the humans hadn't been worthy of survival. 

The philosophy turned his stomach, but there was an innocence to both of them as well. That was what they had been told and therefore what they had believed, until they'd learned differently. Learning was hopeful, though the implication that the vast bulk of their people had no opportunity to learn was not. 

Then Helo and the two Cylons briefed him on the other models, with photos. It was a surprise they weren't all young and attractive, but perhaps for infiltrators that was clever to make some older and less obvious. Sinclair was glad he had never seen any of them before, and nor had Garibaldi, who peered at the images closely to commit them to memory and took the photos when they were done.

On the way out, while he was ruminating, Garibaldi muttered, "You know they're going to come to Earth. That's how our luck goes."

Sinclair gave a dry chuckle. "We might be lucky if that's all that happens."

Michael side-eyed him and muttered, "And people think _I'm_ a pessimist."

"I learned from the best," Sinclair retorted. But it was pretty simple and had nothing to do with optimism: he'd been a pawn of the Vorlons before, and the more he learned about the Colonies of Kobol, the more he was sure the Vorlons were doing it to these people, too.

* * *

On _Galactica_ , Roslin and Adama stood before the gathered leaders and press people.

Sinclair stood up there with them, aware of the speculative and eager looks he kept getting. 

He glanced at Garibaldi, who was off to the side next to Anders and Helo, and Michael gave him a little smirk of "better you than me." Sinclair turned away, mentally shaking his head.

He wasn't nervous, but he was wary of implying more than he could deliver, or of these people hearing what they wanted to hear, not the truth.

Tory introduced the president and Roslin went to the podium, to address the entire Fleet through the microphone there.

"People of the Twelve Colonies," she began. "Today is a joyful day for all of us. Today, we have proof that we are not the last humans in the galaxy. We have met the Thirteenth Tribe and at long last, we are on our way to Earth."

She paused, and even though everyone in the small press area already knew merely by looking at Sinclair and Garibaldi's non-Colonial uniforms, they all still applauded and whispered excitedly, and at least two people let out cheers.

Roslin smiled and waited, letting it die down before starting again, "Two days ago one of our Raptors encountered a space station that announced itself as Earth Station Babylon 5. Yesterday we sent a team to that station to learn about them and assure themselves about Earth and that it was not any sort of Cylon trick. This team, led by Secretary of State Sam Anders, found a large space station, an outpost of Earth. 

"Earth is real," she said, more softly, "Our long journey is finally coming to an end. Mister Anders brought back the commander of the station, and he is here, at my side, and he has agreed to speak to the Fleet about this new region of space we're going to enter."

She took a deep breath, hardly able contain herself, so that she grasped both edges of the podium in her hands, and said, "My fellow citizens of the Twelve Colonies of Kobol, it is my great pleasure and honor to introduce Jeffrey Sinclair, commander of Earth Station Babylon 5."

Beaming, she stepped aside, gesturing him to take her place at the podium, as the crowd applauded.

He cleared his throat and made sure to address both the people in the room and the microphone carrying his voice to the other ships.

"Thank you, President Roslin. Admiral Adama. Secretary Anders. I'm Commander Jeffrey Sinclair, a citizen of Earth Alliance, an organization of a united Earth and its neighboring colonies. Earth Alliance has a population of about twelve billion people, spread across five major star systems and many other smaller outposts.

"On behalf of Earth Alliance, I want to welcome you and offer you our sympathies on your terrible losses. You have my admiration for your courage and determination through your many struggles I've already heard about and many others I have yet to hear."

Which got the niceties out of the way, though certainly any official ambassador was going to be a whole lot more florid. But that wasn't the main thing he wanted to talk about. He drew another breath. "There are also many stories and history you'll need to learn about Earth, but I think right now the most important that all of you must understand is -- humans are not alone. And I don't mean Cylons. Your colonies have been isolated from the rest of the galaxy for a very long time, but in truth there are many other intelligent species out there. These are people who do not look human, because they're not. But they're people as well. Some are friendly to humans, and some are not. My station was built to be a meeting place and a crossroads, for many races to get together and resolve their differences peacefully. It's going to be a very new experience for all of you, so you need to prepare yourselves."

He saw some of the journalists and other people in the audience frowning, not understanding, and wished he'd brought some images. He'd make sure he had some on the next trip. 

"My first priority is to get you emergency relief supplies, since I'm told both food and medicine are at a shortage throughout the fleet. So you'll see that first, but it may take a few days. 

"I will also be in communication with my superiors, including the President of Earth Alliance, to begin the process of resettlement. That may take a little more time, since it will have to go through much higher channels than myself, but I can assure you it will happen. It may not happen as soon as you want, but those that want a planet underneath their feet will have one. 

"President Roslin has offered me a tour of your fleet, to meet some more of you in person. I'll be glad to answer your questions then. Thank you very much and... welcome to the rest of the galaxy."

There was some light applause as he stepped away, and Roslin nodded her approval.


	10. Birds in Flight

The tour of the Fleet started with Anders as his guide, with another pilot callsign Racetrack and Helo, and several guards for him and Garibaldi. Of course Garibaldi started to talk with the security guards, and by the time they arrived at the first ship, they were a team.

It was … rough. Not since the Markab plague had come to the station had he seen the same level of suffering. Signs of nutritional deficiency, starvation, lack of shoes and clothing, even basic cleanliness. He had nothing to give them, unfortunately, except his presence and promise that he would bring back aid, but it made some of them so grateful it made him more sad. 

Anders, being famous as a ball player and Resistance member, got the second biggest share of attention, and Sinclair could see the former professional he’d been with his experience in handling fans pressing up to him. He gave everyone a tiny sliver of attention to make them feel seen. It was a useful lesson.

Getting back on the Raptor, they were all subdued. “I didn’t know it was so bad,” Racetrack murmured, glancing out the canopy at the crowd watching them leave.

“Evacuating New Caprica meant we had even less than before,” Anders said. “A lot of material was left behind.” 

“I knew that, but I guess I didn’t… realize,” she said.

“And it’s all like this?” Garibaldi asked, gesturing to the rest of the fleet. 

Helo nodded. “Some better, some worse, from what I understand. But pretty much the same.” 

“Is that enough?” Racetrack turned to look at Sinclair. “Sir?” 

It would be cowardly to say yes, he knew that. And he’d made a promise. “No, I said I’d visit more ships. Next on the list, Lieutenant, if you would.” 

The second ship was much like the first, but the third… that was where it went wrong. The crowd was thinner but more unruly, demanding more food, and he was trying to explain he hadn’t brought any, but they weren’t listening.

“Back to the ship,” Garibaldi advised. “This is getting out of hand.”

He didn’t have time to agree, as the crowd surged forward, and the security guards tried to hold back. But they were too few and Helo and Racetrack tried to call for calm, and Anders put himself in front of Sinclair. “Hey, back off. He’s here to help!” 

“Fall back,” Helo commanded. “Racetrack, Raptor. Now.” 

Someone threw something and with a pro’s reflexes, Anders caught the wrench and held it up. The crowd seemed to freeze at that moment, and whatever had seized them dissolved and the threat of violence was gone.

The team withdrew, Helo hurrying Sinclair back to the Raptor with the guards watching their rear.

“I am so sorry,” Sam said, once they were all aboard and Racetrack was lifting them off.

“Not your fault. They were angry. I’m glad it ended without anyone hurt.”

Garibaldi grunted. “That was fun. Let’s not do it again.” He gave Sinclair a baleful look. “We’re done. Aren’t we.” 

He glanced toward Helo. “Any other ship you think I should visit?” 

“I don’t think any are that different,” Helo answered with a shrug. “Some are more crowded than others. And something like the refinery ship is gonna be worse; they’re hostile to Colonial Fleet as is, and I don’t think we could guarantee your safety with nothing to offer.” 

It was a disappointing answer, but not unexpected after what he’d seen. “All right, back to _Galactica_ then.”

“Did you see what you wanted?” Anders asked. 

He thought of the sickly little boy he’d seen on the first ship. “Wanted? No, I wouldn’t say that. But it was important to put faces to them.” He gestured to the other ships passing outside as they returned to the battleship. “I'm sure many of them won't believe it until they see the supplies. There are ways of getting help without going through the Earth Alliance bureaucracy, so we'll have to work on that back on the station."

"Whatever you can do, we appreciate it," Anders said, and Sinclair gave him a look.

"Oh, when I said 'we'll have to work on that', that 'we' was definitely including you, Mister Anders."

"Right. Of course." Anders seemed hesitant, and Sinclair remembered he was new to his position.

"When I came to the station, just after it was finished two years ago now, I thought for sure there had been a mistake," Sinclair admitted. "My previous command post had been small and simple, nothing like the thousands on the station, military and civilian, not to mention I had little experience with diplomatic duties so it was a pretty steep learning curve as the ambassadors arrived. But... the station's still there. It worked out, thanks to a willingness to listen and--" 

"Stubbornness," Garibaldi muttered. "Lots of stubbornness." 

"That, too." He couldn't argue. "Though I'd say it's more," he hesitated to consider his words, "an unwillingness to yield to what is wrong, even if it's easy. I'd rather take the harder, but better, path. Deal with others with integrity-- they may not deal with you in return that way, but your own conscience is clear and everyone else will see who's the one they'd rather deal with." 

Anders nodded, and he seemed to get what Sinclair was trying to say. 

"So say we all," Racetrack murmured into the silence that followed what he'd said. 

"Anyway," he lightened his tone, not sure when he'd fallen into his flight training voice, or why they were all listening to him as if they were in his class, "you'll do fine. I'll help you as I can." 

"I appreciate that, Commander," Anders said.

Helo took a moment then asked, "So I'm sorry, I don't mean to be rude, but so why _were_ you chosen? You mentioned that previous war. Was the military so thin, or...?"

"That's a good question," Sinclair said, and Garibaldi snorted. "All I was told originally was that I'd been chosen, and no one refuses promotion in EarthForce or you might as well leave. So I went." 

"But there was a reason?" Agathon asked, surprising Sinclair that he was persisting. But perhaps it was only fair.

"The Minbari had requested me, it turned out." He forced a shrug from tight shoulders, trying not to let on how bothersome it all was. "They knew me from the final battle in the war between us, the Battle of the Line, when I tried to suicide run their command ship." He ignored Garibaldi's sharp glance, and was almost a little amused by it. What had he thought Sinclair's Starfury had been doing? Not that even Michael knew about the cryptic hints that there had been more to it than that; more than even Sinclair knew as flashes of memory that they'd tried to erase. "It was desperation for me, but to them, it was honorable. In exchange for the Minbari cooperation with the station project as a neutral territory, they had veto power over its commander. So, here I am."

"That seems very complicated," Helo looked toward Anders. "Better you than me, Sam. Sorry, I mean, Mister Secretary."

"Oh frak off, _Captain_ Agathon," Anders retorted lightly. 

Listening to their friendly teasing, Sinclair had to ask, "In your system, is Secretary of State in the line of succession? To be president?" 

It was worth it for Anders' horrified eyes turning toward him. "Oh gods. I don't know, is it? I hope not." 

The Colonial Fleet officers all laughed at the look on his face, and Garibaldi patted him on the shoulder. "Sorry." 

Racetrack was still chuckling as she brought the Raptor in for a landing.

* * *

Back on the _Galactica,_ Sam waited while Apollo taught Sinclair the basics of Viper flight and introduced him to the simulator.

He stood by with Garibaldi. “You fly?” Garibaldi asked him.

Sam shrugged. “No real need. There aren’t enough birds for pilots. You?” 

“I can fly a Starfury. Not like him, though.” He jerked his head toward the simulator. “Bet your CAG will rate him on the Viper.” 

Sam chuckled. “Not taking that bet, Chief. Since I’m sure Kara will be rated on your Starfury by the time we get back.” 

“We could sell tickets to a competition?” Garibaldi suggested with a mischievous grin, rubbing his fingers together for money. But then his face sombered and he glanced at the simulator to make sure the two senior officers remained absent. 

“Maybe you already figure this, but you should pass on to your command that,” he hesitated, trying to pick his words, “what happened today? Going out to your fleet like that? Not a lot of Earth Force officers would do that. The commander does those things because… well, that’s how he thinks. But mavericks aren't especially popular back at Earth Central. Bureaucrats and politicians are going to take over, and there’s not much the station is going to be able to do for you after that.” 

Sam wasn’t surprised. “I sorta figured. But warning taken. Do you think there’ll be a problem knowing about the Cylons?”

The look on Garibaldi’s face was answer enough, but then he nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I do. He’s right; there won’t be Earth settlement with that. And it’s only your drives and any other tech you want to share that’s going to keep you from being dumped off on some mining colony hellhole. But not the killer robots.” He looked jerked a thumb toward the museum. “Dump those remains into space before you get to the station. I can't vouch for the Research division being smart.” 

Sam got the implication and grimaced understanding. “Not Sharon.” 

“No, of course not.” He looked thoughtful, and blew out a breath. “That’s… a problem. If it were me, I’d say keep that to yourselves. But now we know, and if they find out we knew and we didn’t say…. Shit. We’ll talk about it.” 

“You really think they might do something to her?”

The chief looked like he regretted starting this conversation. But he answered honestly. “Do I _want_ to believe they would? No. Are they supposed to? No. Do I know Earth Alliance and Earth Force get up to shady shit? Yes, yes, I do. And there are telepaths which can read minds, so keeping secrets gets a lot harder.” 

That news hit him like a brick. "Telepaths? _Read minds_? Are you serious?"

Garibaldi snorted. "You don't have any? Lucky you." 

"Can you tell? I mean, how do you know if someone's looking in your head?" Sam asked, alarmed. 

Garibaldi shrugged. "Generally you don't. Human telepaths are all controlled and licensed by PsiCorps. Aliens? Some, like the Narn, seem to be missing the gene. Others, who knows. They're not telling." 

Sam shivered, not liking this news at all. It was creepy to think someone could just stare into his thoughts like that. 

Garibaldi added, "I was told you can sort of shield yourself by focusing on something you know well. It won't work against a determined scan, but," he shrugged, "it's the best we normies can do." 

Sam nodded. At least he had years of pyramid games to remember. That would have to drive any eavesdropper mad with annoyance as he replayed the last half of Bucs-Panthers and that glorious triple score play.

Then it occurred to him that Kara and Jean didn't know this either, and they were on the station. There was no way to warn them. Not that it sounded as if it would do much good, but they should know.

The simulator opened, and Apollo ushered Sinclair out. 

"And?" Garibaldi called. "How is it?"

"Took a bit of getting used to the controls," Sinclair said, flexing his hands to work out the stiffness. "I might've crashed into the deck four times."

"What? You? I don't believe it," Garibaldi teased. 

Sinclair rolled his eyes. "Funny. It flies more like a Thunderbolt, as I expected, so I wouldn't want to fly it in combat without a lot more flight time, but it's a sweet ship."

"You're already better than the nuggets we've trained in there," Apollo said. "I could cert you today for flight."

Sinclair looked tempted. "I wouldn't mind taking one out."

Garibaldi folded his arms and glowered. "Now you're just yanking my chain. Not. Happening. Ivanova would roast me alive."

Sinclair chuckled and held out a hand to Apollo. "Another time, Captain. But thank you."

Apollo shook his hand. "I'd fly with you any time, sir. But I think it's time for final debriefs, before you go back?" 

Sam checked his wristwatch. "Close enough. Back to the conference room, then." He waved a hand to the younger Adama, and the small group headed out.

About two hours later, the Raptor was ready to go back. Sam had passed on the warnings Garibaldi had given him about getting rid of the Chromedomes on board, in case Earth wanted to take them, and then the bit about telepaths. 

In exchange, Sam had gotten a satchel full of papers outlining various technologies they thought might be tradeable, and since Gaeta was going back too, Sam intended to lean on him for that info. There were also details on their census and various needs in the Fleet. Then Roslin presented him with a suit they'd found on _Colonial One_ that looked like it might fit. He eyed it with enough skepticism and discomfort she laughed, but pressed it into his hands anyway. "You are our official representative now, Sam. You need to dress the part." 

He agreed, while knowing Kara and Jean were both going to be merciless for days. 

Last, he'd stuffed the pyramid ball into the satchel, with the idea they could demonstrate the game on the station. Costanza claimed he'd played in secondary, so they could play two-on-two. That meant Sam had everything with him that was important-- the dogtag around his neck, and the photo of him and Kara he kept in his pocket- and he was ready to go.

Gaeta and Costanza wore flightsuits and carried their uniforms this time, since they were no longer trying to pass as civilians. And Sinclair and Garibaldi had changed into their flightsuits too. 

Which left Sam the only one on the ship who'd die if the Raptor lost its cabin air. That didn't seem quite fair, somehow, but it was amusing, too. At least he wouldn't have to wear the suit and negotiate with aliens, if that happened.

Sinclair shook hands with Admiral Adama, promising that the fleet would get aid, and it was time to go.

* * *

"WOOOO!" Kara yelled in the simulator as the Starfury whipped around. She fired continuously, ripping apart whatever those enemy fighters were. It didn't matter. Gods, this was a great ship.

"I want one!" she shouted to Ivanova who was listening out there somewhere. 

The intercom clicked, and Ivanova answered dryly, " _You can have mine."_

The simulation was clearly set to get harder, with waves of enemies coming faster and better, until finally Kara's ship exploded into a fireball, and the screen went black.

She blew out a breath, rolled her head on her neck, and stood up on wobbly legs. This configuration worked the quads a lot more than a Viper did.

On the other side of the hatch, Ivanova and Jean were waiting. "So?" Kara demanded. "How'd I do?"

"For someone with no experience in a Starfury you blew up the score," Ivanova told her. "Nice. Earth Force might recruit you."

"Haven't lost my touch then." Kara nudged Jean. "You should try. It's a blast. Flying's not that different from pyramid."

Jean looked skeptical of that claim, but shook her head. "I'll pass."

Kara shrugged. "Your loss." She faced Ivanova. "Now where?"

"Now I go back to CIC, and cut you both loose in green sector. There are--" something interrupted her and she tapped the comm on the back of her hand and held it up. "Ivanova."

 _"Corwin, Lieutenant Commander. The Raptor is back."_

Kara exchanged a smiling glance with Jean. Finally.

Ivanova nodded. "Good to hear. What docking bay?" 

" _Seven."_

"I'll meet them there. Ivanova out." She lowered her hand. "They're back. Let's go meet them."


	11. Many (Happy?) Returns

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oops, that was a bit longer than I planned but I wanted to make sure this part went up this weekend, after the word came that Mira Furlan passed away a few days ago. 
> 
> So, in memory of a great actress and a lovely human being, you will be missed. But your work lives on, as Delenn now enters the story.

* * *

There was no need to hurry, Kara told herself, they were going to get to the docking bay before the Raptor could land. She knew that, because the station was large, but not that large when the docking process was slow. Nevertheless, it was convenient that Ivanova had officer access that jumped them to internal corridors, so they could get there faster than Kara and Jean could have on their own.

They arrived in time to watch on monitors as the Raptor landed and the bay repressurized. Techs watched the readouts, made more cautious with the station XO at their backs not to mention the station CO in the ship, and double-checked as the board went green. 

At the all-clear, they went through the airlock hatches and into the bay. Costanza was in the Raptor's pilot seat, visible through the cockpit window, and he waved to Kara. She valiantly did not roll her eyes, folding her arms as she waited.

The Raptor side door opened, ramp lowering to the deck, and Gaeta was first out. "Starbuck."

She was a little surprised he'd come back, since he was bridge crew but that was a question for later. "Hey Gaeta. Any news?"

He gave a little shrug. "No change." 

Sinclair and Garibaldi followed him down the ramp, and Ivanova stepped forward. “Welcome back.”

“Anything urgent?” Sinclair asked.

"It's been quiet around here. A couple things to brief you on, nothing major though," she reported.

“That’s what I like to hear."

Sam and Costanza came down the ramp and Kara felt her eyes go wide. She had never seen Sam wearing that. He was wearing a dark blue suit jacket with a light blue button-front shirt, and it fit well for something that had to have been stashed in a closet somewhere for years.

Jean whistled. "Look at that outfit. I've only seen you dress up for press day, T." 

He rolled his eyes. "Very funny." He strode up to Kara. "Everything okay here?" 

She frowned, taken by surprise by the look of concern on his face. "Sure. Why?"

He looked uncomfortable then shrugged. "I don't know, just a bad dream I guess."

That was sweet. She thought of kissing him but decided she could do better than that in private. "You were worried? It was fine. I got hit on by a couple of aliens, and flew their simulator just now. Oh gods, Sam, you have to try it. That Starfury is _amazing._ "

Sam glanced at Garibaldi, lips quirked in amusement. "Told you." Kara wanted to laugh, because _of course_ Sam had told the station personnel that she'd end up flying a Starfury.

"Yes, it is," Sinclair responded mildly. "Your Viper is a good ship, too." She wanted to ask about that, but the moment passed as he continued, "Chief, settle our friends back in quarters. I'll see you later," he told Sam, "but first I need to catch up and report. Lieutenant Commander?" He gestured for her to join him, and the two left immediately. 

"So?" Kara demanded. "How was _Galactica_? The Old Man?"

"The Fleet's stalled," Gaeta told her. "To make it easier to go back and forth. I know the emergency coordinates if they're forced to jump, but so far no contacts out to patrol." 

"When are they jumping here?" she asked.

Gaeta glanced at Garibaldi and Sam, and it was Sam who answered, "Roslin and Adama think we need to negotiate settlement before we do that. We can ferry other observers back, and any relief supplies, but right now, they're concerned we'll lose all our triad cards if the whole fleet comes here."

Which made sense even if a part of her wanted to see what would happen if the fleet showed up on the doorstep. "Sounds like a plan. There's a list already of aliens who want to meet you, by the way. We're gonna need some kind of ... office," she told Garibaldi and chuckled at Sam's grimace. "We'll help you, Mister Secretary Ambassador Anders." 

He rolled his eyes. "I should've stayed on _Galactica."_

She hooked arms with him. "Come on, let's go. You've got this nice jacket but this bay is freezing."

They stopped by security to get identicards that would give them their own access to Green sector without escort. As Garibaldi handed them to Sam, he said, "You're now in the system, so keep ahold of them."

Jean held up the card. "We're citizens of Earth Alliance?" 

"No, not yet, officially," Garibaldi said. "It's just for your identity. And that you're human."

"That's what the negotiations are for." Sam patted the case he was carrying. "Can we find our own way back?" he asked the chief. "I'm sure you have something better to do."

"Nothing as fun, but yeah," Garibaldi agreed. "You're good to go." 

He escorted them to the front of Security Central, and Kara led the way after that. "It's not hard to navigate," she told the others. "Blue's mostly for station ops, personnel quarters, that sort of thing. I doubt these cards get access. Red and Green are commercial and residential, Grey is out by the hull, and Yellow's down by the reactor and maintenance. So we basically don't need to be anywhere but Red and Green. But that's where the fun stuff is, anyway." 

"Except the flight simulator," Sam teased, and she was still thinking about that flight, so she couldn't even argue with him.

They tried to cut through the Zocalo, delayed by Costanza looking around like a country vole, and she should've known better as a voice called. "Captain Thrace!" 

"Oh gods," Barolay muttered.

Kara turned, to see G'Kar striding to intercept them. "Ambassador G'Kar," she greeted. He put both fists to his chest and nodded his head in respectful greeting. She introduced swiftly, "Ambassador, may I introduce our Secretary of State Sam Anders. Sam, this is Ambassador G'Kar of the Narn." 

G'Kar nodded his head and Sam nodded back. "Ambassador." 

"You have only just returned?" G'Kar asked. "Perhaps instead of business, I might offer your group hospitality this evening?" 

Kara expected Sam to politely refuse, but he answered, "Sure, yes, that would be nice, thank you. I'd like a chance to start talking to people." 

G'Kar's bright eyes set on him, for a moment as if he was surprised or made thoughtful by the acceptance. "Excellent. I will send my aide, Na'Toth at 2000 hours for some drinks. I am familiar with human preferences-" somewhere behind her Jean choked, "- but perhaps I might demonstrate a little of Narn culture." 

"Thank you, I'd like that. We'll see you then, Ambassador."

G'Kar went off, and they continued on their way. "Why did you do that?" Kara hissed. "We don't have to _socialize_." 

"Kara, I'm here to talk to them. If Earth Alliance isn't friendly, we're gonna have to make friends." 

"Oh, he's friendly," Jean muttered. But when Sam turned inquisitive eyes on her, she raised a hand. "Later. I need to be drunk." 

Kara chortled to herself, satisfied at the success of her little prank. But the amusement drained away as a sudden chill touched her skin, and she shivered. Her feet stopped, and the sensation of being _watched_ creeped along the back of her neck. She whipped around to see who was staring at her.

But in the dim alley between two shops, she saw no one.

She moved closer to Sam and kept watching, but the sensation didn't fade until they'd turned the corner. 

* * *

In the lift to CIC Sinclair lifted his brows at Ivanova. “Okay. Let me hear the rest.” 

“It really was quiet. Too much so. I suspect trouble is waiting for you to come back." 

She was probably right. "Naturally." 

"Only two items of interest,” she answered, “One, Delenn’s Flyer docked this morning.”

“Did she say why she left?”

Ivanova shook her head. “I only read the report. I haven’t seen her. And two, it’s not yet official, but scuttlebutt has Earth Dome sending the _Heracles_ here.” 

The _Heracles_ was a destroyer, and that was a mighty big show of force for someone’s benefit. “I haven’t even made my report yet. Fantastic,” he muttered, and Susan hummed agreement. “Is that still Hall’s ship?”

“I’d have to check but I think so. Why?” 

“I don’t know him well, but he opposed the Babylon Project from the start.” And he’d been against Sinclair’s selection as commander of the station as well, though that certainly hadn’t been a rare opinion. 

She made a face. “Just what we need. I couldn’t get a reason for why they’re coming, but what else than the refugee fleet? Earth Dome really doesn’t want any aliens getting their hands on that jump tech, do they?” 

Sinclair hoped that was all the destroyer was about. It was always a problem when destroyer captains tried to pull rank on him and pretend they could govern the station. Which Hall was almost certain to do, unless the Dome had put him on a short leash. 

He let himself have one little sigh. “It probably doesn’t matter much. Once I tell the Dome about the enemies that made them refugees, they’d send a destroyer anyway.” He wished he didn’t have to say anything at all, but he was going to have to, and now people like Captain Hall were going to get in the way of the relief mission. 

“That bad?” she asked.

“Worse. They’re coming.”

She nodded, not surprised. “Of course.” 

“Not soon, it sounds like. Though I doubt the Dome will see it that way.” 

The Cylons were for later. The refugee fleet, possible fights over their technology, and the _Heracles_ was a problem for right now. 

It was deliberate to send the _Heracles_ , instead of another destroyer, and it was clearly someone flexing his power to do it. But he wasn’t sure if it was pointed at himself, the refugees, the aliens, or even someone in Earth Dome like President Santiago or General Hague, who was less isolationist. 

Well, no, the choice was certainly pointed directly at the station and Sinclair, even if they weren’t the primary targets. 

_Just because you’re paranoid, doesn’t mean they’re not out to get you, Jeff. Keep your head clear, eyes open_ , _and use all the skills you’ve learned in this place._

The lift doors opened to access CIC and soon he was back home, hearing about the station activities in his absence while pondering his report to his superiors.

* * *

The verbal report went about as well as Sinclair had expected once he shared the news about robot enemies that had destroyed an entire civilization inside Vorlon space. He kept circling back to humanitarian need, but knew it mostly went unheard and unnoticed, beneath the disbelief, hostility, and general paranoia that these Cylons were headed to Earth.

When he was finally let off the line, he was very tempted to throw something at the comm, but knew he might as well get started on the written report. 

The trill of his office door chime made him curious, since everyone in CIC knew what he was doing. "Come." 

He'd expected Garibaldi, but it was Doctor Franklin instead. "Doctor?" He was about to ask if Franklin could wait until later, but there was something about the doctor's expression that made him hold back his words. "Is something wrong?" Which also seemed odd, when Franklin could link in. 

Franklin shook his head and then visibly reconsidered. "Maybe. I need to speak to you. In private." His gaze fell to the tablet where Sinclair was just beginning his report. "It's a security matter." 

Sinclair's hand tightened on his stylus. About the refugees. Franklin had found out something. Sinclair hadn't mentioned the human-form Cylons yet, but that could only be what he was talking about.

 _Oh this day gets better_. And he absolutely could not have this conversation in his office.

He stood up. "Doctor, let's take a walk." 

Franklin looked relieved, which was confirmation. 

Sinclair darted into CIC to tell Ivanova not to be alarmed that he was going to be off-line for a few minutes because Franklin had something confidential to speak to him about. And then they went into the lift.

There, Franklin opened his mouth, but Sinclair held up a hand. "Not yet." He pointed at their links, and Franklin looked dismayed as if he hadn't considered the security flaw of their comlinks. 

At the hatch, they both peeled theirs off and left the links on the little shelf, and then Sinclair led the way into the Zen garden. It was a small peaceful place with a bench overlooking a garden of raked sand and stones. A quick glance proved the area was deserted, and he took out his ECM device, activating it to kill any listening device. 

"Okay, Stephen, talk to me."

Franklin stared briefly at the ECM, wondering at his possession of the device, no doubt, but then nodded. "I finished the analysis of those five refugees. Four are human. One of them..." he drew in a deep breath, looked around and then said barely above a whisper, "is made up, at the molecular level, of Vorlon nanobots." 

He started to say something stupid like 'are you sure?' but stopped. Of course Franklin was sure, or he wouldn't be here, reporting this. This was far worse than what he had expected.

"Who?" 

"Anders," Franklin answered.

Sinclair shut his eyes, remembering that kiss between Anders and his wife before they left. "He doesn't know. None of them do." 

It wasn't a question, but Franklin shook his head. "Without a very detailed molecular analysis no one would know. Physically, he has a blood type, his scans are all real, he has bones that grew and cells that divide, and he still has scarring from a lung infection. But what powers cell division is extremely advanced. And is clearly related to the inert material gathered off the floor of Docking Bay 13."

He looked as if a weight came off him, telling all that. And why wouldn't it, because he'd just passed the news to his commander to deal with.

"Who knows?" Sinclair asked.

"No one. I did the analysis myself, and reported nothing past my original results that found they're human. I locked all my files." He chewed on his lip and then said, "I know you remember the war. I do, too. I know what EFI would do to him because I know what they did to Minbari."

"That's not in your file."

"It wouldn't be, would it? It was a brief assignment; I asked to be transferred right away." He shook his head, eyes dark. "I didn't want to learn about anything else. But that's not all. What would the Vorlons do to keep that tech secret from us? They stopped Death Walker, what would keep them from blowing up the station? Hell, all of Earth?"

Reflexively Sinclair glanced toward the entrance, even though they both would have heard the door open. "I see you've thought of this." 

Franklin barked a laugh. "I've done nothing else since I figured it out."

"Well, the Vorlons are definitely a concern. Not that I'm going to ask them." Though that was going to be his cover if anyone later demanded to know the rationale for his next order, "So you need to keep this secret. Destroy the samples and erase whatever final analysis you did." When Franklin looked a bit surprised by the order, Sinclair shook his head. "We're going to be in the middle of a feeding frenzy over their jump tech soon enough. But experimentation on any being is against the Babylon charter and is a line I will not cross."

Franklin nodded. "Thank you. But if they find out...? What will they do to you?" 

"That's my problem, not yours, Stephen. Go on, take care of this before it leaks." He walked Franklin to the hatch, retrieved his link, and went back to sit on the bench again to think.

The "Final Five". Mythical Cylons. Created by their maker but unknown. Special. But special how? Because they were nearly perfect replicas of humans? Or was there more to it?

And one of them was going to negotiate for the refugee fleet from a cataclysm that the same 'maker' had almost certainly known about, and maybe had a direct hand in.

 _The children come home_ , Kosh had said. Maybe he had meant that almost literally, that these Five were Vorlon 'children', and he hadn't been speaking of the humans at all.

But Stephen was right; what would the Vorlons do to protect their secret? Even if Anders was here through some benign design of the Vorlons, that didn't mean they wanted the humans to know what he was. 

Worse, what would Earth Force Intel do to possess it? Nothing good, if they knew. 

The sound of the hatch sliding open made him tense, until he identified the footsteps approaching as singular and familiar. 

He got to his feet and turned, as Delenn rounded the corner. She was wearing layers of lavender and blue, and moved gracefully toward him. She smiled when she saw he was present, and tucked her hands in her sleeves to bow her head to him. "Commander. I hoped to find you here."

"Welcome back, Ambassador. Please," he gestured for her to join him on the bench, as had become their custom over the last two years. Once she sat down, he gave her a moment to observe the garden in silence, while he watched her. 

If anyone should hate the Minbari, he thought it should be him. Immediately after the war, it had been him. Filled with rage and guilt, he'd hoped for nothing more than to confront Minbari again. But as soon as he'd met Delenn, he'd had to recognize that wasn't truly what he wanted. Petite, with a beautiful face, she might seem waif-like to the unaware, but even before he'd remembered more about the Line, the inner strength of her shone in her eyes.

Now he knew she'd been there at the Line and she knew much more about it than she was telling him, but even so, he couldn't be angry at her. She meant well, he believed that, and she would tell him when she could. 

"Was your trip home successful?" he asked.

She nodded her smooth bonecrest once. "It was. I retrieved something I will need shortly. And you? Was your trip to the human colonist fleet successful?" 

"They need help. They've been eating nothing but compressed algae for weeks. Little food, no medicine, they have nothing. It was... difficult to see." 

"I offer whatever assistance they would be willing to accept," Delenn murmured. "To alleviate suffering is perhaps our greatest calling among the religious caste." 

"I'll accept on their behalf, since I question how helpful EarthForce is going to be. The word of enemies heading to Earth is occupying EarthCentral's attention. And speaking of, to give you warning, they're sending the EAS _Heracles_ here in a few days." He couldn't quite make himself add "in support" since he doubted they'd be supporting the refugees, him, the station, or the station's mission. Hall's political aspirations were definitely going to be supported, though.

She inclined her head in understanding and acceptance of the warning. Though Earth and the Minbari were at peace, misunderstandings and ill-will still existed on both sides, and it could be tense if one of the Minbari warships arrived while the _Heracles_ was here.

"The colonists say they were deep within Vorlon territory, and Kosh seemed to confirm that when I spoke to him," he added. "I hadn't expected any humans to be allowed in there at all."

He watched her face, but if she knew anything else about it, he couldn't tell. "I suppose they had their reasons," Delenn said. "They always do, even if it's nothing we understand at the time."

"Because they don't explain anything?" Sinclair asked, and she smiled with rueful amusement.

"Would we understand the explanation? They know so much more than the younger races."

"I'd still like the explanation for why they did nothing to stop a couple of billion people from getting exterminated in the Twelve Colonies by this other race," he said, a bit bitterly. "In their own territory. They had to know." 

She hesitated. "Would you accept any answer they gave you?" she asked quietly. 

He had to think about that one. If the Vorlons had a Really Good Reason... except he didn't think any reason would be sufficient for allowing a genocide. "Maybe not. But I'd still like to know if they had one." 

"Kosh would tell you," Delenn offered.

He nearly snorted. If it was anything like his previous attempt, all he'd get would be a cryptic pronouncement of future doom. And this time, since he was pretty sure Kosh was a telepath, going to ask him anything was inviting Kosh to find out that the humans now knew about the Vorlon pet project. 

Secrets. Too many secrets, and it was going to go badly. 

He rubbed a hand over his face.

"Is everything all right?" Delenn asked, her voice soft with concern. "You seem more troubled?" 

"Just everything seems to be happening all at once. There's a lot to do and think about. Thank you for your offer to assist with the refugees. I'll let Ambassador Anders know to speak to you about the details. But I still need to write my report." He stood up, reviewing their conversation - always with Delenn there was more going unspoken than anything out loud, but his main points were covered - the _Heracles_ , and he'd expressed his annoyance with the Vorlon and refugees and hopefully she'd pass that along, since she spoke to Kosh more than he did. It would be nice if the Vorlons offered to help clean up the mess they'd made, but he wasn't going to expect it.

She followed to her feet. "Then I wish you good evening, Commander. Thank you for speaking to me." 

"Of course, always an honor, Delenn." She bowed her head, and he did the same in return, and left the garden to return to his office. 

* * *

In the garden, Delenn seated herself back on the bench and removed a small triangular object from her sleeve. It still felt warm, though that faded as the glow in the stone in the middle dimmed to a glimmer.

He was more right than he knew. Many things were happening at once.

She had been so certain before she had left and when she had insisted on bringing it to the station.

But now it seemed too much was uncertain. Her path was still clear, but was this the right time? The ancient device in her palm offered no answer, only more questions.

Then, knowing she had made the decision by asking the question, she replaced it in her sleeve. Not yet. Jeffrey would need her guidance in the days to come. This would need to wait.

* * *


	12. Negotiations

Kara watched as Ambassador Kalika of the Abbai was escorted out the hatch by Costanza, and as soon as the fish-lady was gone, Kara let out a breath. "One down, fifty to go." 

The little office they'd been lent had two rooms, both with small tables and a few chairs in each. The outer room had become Constanza and Barolay's administration area, where they kept track of appointments, and the inner room had a longer table with Sam in the middle, flanked by Kara and Gaeta, across from two chairs. 

Kalika had been nice, but had nothing much to offer. But Sam had heard her out politely, even when Kara was already bored out of her mind. 

"At least G'Kar's place was fun," she muttered. He'd known he didn't have all that much to offer either, his world being war-torn, and he admitted he wanted the drives to attack the Centauri. She understood that impulse of course, but he knew from the start that they'd be uncomfortable rearranging the balance of power in the quadrant so suddenly. 

His advice had been worth it, though, when he'd told Sam with somber scarlet eyes, "I understand the lure to be with your own kind. But remember this: they do not know you. You are no better to them than the Narn to the Centauri and possibly worse as you bring new enemies to their door. You may be better off with those who see you as equals." 

"I'll keep that in mind, Ambassador. We're keeping our options open," Sam had answered.

That had been the extent of the business, as G'Kar and Na'Toth had introduced them to Narn cuisine (not bad), Narn alcohol (mostly terrible), and Narn culture (interesting). Costanza seemed to have the most fun, asking impertinent questions that made their host laugh.

"So tell me," G'Kar asked later on, while he, Sam and Kara drank and watched the rest of them play some drunken dice game on the floor, "Why did you accept? It will give the appearance of alignment with us, whether you do more or not." 

And her Sam had answered, with a small hard smile, "You fought your war of liberation, so did we. I may have to deal with Earth Alliance or the Centauri, but you and I know something these others will never understand." 

G'Kar clicked cups with him. "To the defeat of our enemies." 

"And the formation of new friendships," Sam had added, drinking down the rest of whatever awful alien rotgut this was. 

Luckily, despite the taste, the stuff was worth drinking because it didn't end up with terrible hangovers. So they'd all started their day rather more bright-eyed than they'd feared, and Sam had in good humor, beginning his day of doing his new duty.

Listening to Sam with Ambassador Kalika, Kara had decided he was pretty good at this. Roslin must have remembered his press interviews and how unflappable he'd been. 

Unfortunately Kara wasn't feeling particularly useful sitting beside him. Gaeta was there for technical discussions but Kara was mostly moral support. It was probably not a bad strategy to have someone look grumpy and bored to make these flowery diplomats get to the point.

The outer hatch opened, and she heard Brendan, sounding a little flustered, "Um. Hello? I don't think there's a Minbari on the list. Is there-- "

"Would you like to make an appointment?" Barolay asked, more smoothly.

A soft feminine voice said, "I am Delenn." 

Kara shot up from her chair, casting an urgent glance at Sam. "Please come in, Ambassador," she called. 

"But Captain, the next appointment--" Costanza appeared in the open hatchway between them.

She glared at Costanza trying to impress on him the seriousness of this. "They're not here yet. Bring her in." 

Sam, reacting to her urgency, got to his feet as Ambassador Delenn was ushered in by Costanza.

Delenn entered, her expression calm as she stopped before the table. "Thank you for seeing me." 

"Of course, Ambassador," Kara said. The Minbari were the most powerful of the aliens on the station, had fought the Humans nearly to annihilation, and it behooved them to be very polite.

"I am Sam Anders," Sam introduced himself, "Captain Kara Thrace, and Lieutenant Felix Gaeta, from the Twelve Colonies of Kobol. Please sit down, Ambassador." 

"May we offer water?" Gaeta asked.

Delenn seated herself in a graceful fall of skirts and inclined her head. "Thank you, but no. Indeed it is not what you can offer to me, that I come, but what I have come to offer you. Commander Sinclair told me of the need of your people for food supplies, which we will provide to you." 

"Supplies would be most welcome, of course," Sam began warily, "but in exchange for what?" 

"Nothing. The religious caste of the Minbari finds our calling in alleviating suffering. It is a great tragedy that befell your people, I am told, and you lack very basic supplies. A cargo ship is already on its way."

"Not our jump drives?" Gaeta asked.

Delenn smiled very slightly. "They are of little appeal to us. The Minbari have been spacefaring for more than a thousand years, and we understand our own methods of travel. No, this is a gift." Her expression grew more serious. "The war between us and the Humans was not so long ago. I would do what I may to bring true peace between us." 

"But we weren't there," Kara pointed out.

"You suffered a catastrophe. Perhaps caused by a similar misunderstanding, and one day your enemies might also make peace with you." 

"We can hope so," Sam said. "In any case, you assistance is most gratefully accepted, Ambassador." 

She inclined her head and rose to her feet, the three Fleet humans rising with her. "Then I will not take any more of your time, Secretary Anders. We will, as the Earthers say, keep in touch." 

After she was gone, they sat back down. "Gift?" Gaeta murmured skeptically. "Doesn't that mean the cost isn't going to be money?"

Sam shrugged. "Sure. But we need it, she's offering, and it does kind of make the point that the Minbari are helping us before Earth Alliance gets around to us." 

Kara smiled at him mischievously. "They don't have to know the Minbari don't even want anything in return." 

"A favor to be named later," Gaeta said drily. "That's what they'll want in exchange." Off Sam's look, he raised a hand. "I agree, you had to accept. There's no food, and if the Minbari can provide some, we take it. Especially if they really have no interest in our drives. I'm just saying there's no way it's free, even if she's perfectly sincere."

Sam shrugged. "I guess if we ever have something they want, the bill comes due, but it won't be my problem."

Costanza poked his head in. "The next one's arrived." 

Sam's eyes met Kara's and she had to bite her lip to keep from laughing as his expression shifted to the resigned look of a sad puppy. "Sure, Brendan, send them in," he called and Kara settled in for more introductory negotiations, thinking longingly of that Starfury simulator to take her away from this. 

* * *

Sinclair invited himself to the negotiations by virtue of taking them to lunch at one of the Core restaurants. Outside his office, looking at the view, it was a nice break.

Being the first time he'd seen them since Franklin's report, he had to make sure he behaved normally with them. He, and the rest of his people had no idea clearly, and at least to Sinclair, it didn't matter on a personal level. But while walking beside Sam, it still seemed the Vorlons had put all this into motion in order to get Sam _here_. And if he was one of those "mythical Final Five" there were four more of them. But why? What could five people do? 

Maybe nothing. Maybe that wasn't the point, and he was thinking about this all wrong. What if, instead of infiltrators, these were meant to be shepherds? The Vorlons were ancient and paternalistic, they might do secretive things like this to guide the primitives to new lands.

Since somehow a professional sport player was now an official spokesman, it seemed it was working.

But his musings were distracting and not really the point. After the server had brought drinks and taken their orders, he'd regarded Sam. "How is it going?"

"Ambassador Delenn came by, offered us food supplies. There's a ship on the way already. And she said you told her, so thank you for that." 

"Of course. I thought they might be more efficient about it. Minbari are rather less bureaucratic than Earth Alliance." It helped that one of their leaders was the ambassador to Babylon 5, but he wasn't supposed to know that. 

"Can I ask, Commander, are you the one who's supposed to negotiate with us?" Gaeta asked. "Or is there someone else coming?"

"I mentioned bureaucratic, right? The Dome is sending out someone else. Possibly a whole team." 

"Oh joy," Sam muttered, and Kara chuckled. 

"It's a good thing to have the Dome take you seriously. But it also comes coupled with the arrival of the EAS _Heracles_ , which is a very large warship, in a move which is most assuredly meant to intimidate both you and anyone else considering acquiring your tech."

"They're not going to accept no for an answer, is what you're telling us," Kara said.

Sinclair hesitated. "Reluctant, for certain. I'll advocate for you as best I can, but this has all turned political because the election's coming soon."

"We could settle it now?" Sam offered. "Jump drives for settlement on a colony world and citizenship in Earth Alliance. That's all we want." 

"And I would say, _done_ , but unfortunately there's paperwork, and I have enough of that already," Sinclair said, only half-joking. His link chirped and he lifted it, "Sinclair." 

It was Corwin in C&C. " _Commander, a Drazi ship is refusing grapples to enter the bay_." 

"Locate their ambassador, and update me," he said and stood up. The other moved as if to stand, but he waved them back down. "Duty calls. Finish your lunch, please. And enjoy your break," he advised Sam, glad it was someone else for a change stuck in diplomatic courtesies all day.

* * *

Sam yawned and rubbed at his forehead. All he'd done was talk and listen, but it was _exhausting._ Except lunch, it had been nothing but a parade of aliens all frakking day. He had vague thoughts of finding the others, who'd managed to escape for various excuses, and were probably at the bar, the bastards. But he decided he'd rather fall into bed. Kara could wake him up when she came back in. "Lords, why did I ever agree to this?" 

Brendan chuckled. "Did you have a choice?"

"Not at all." At the hatch to their quarters, he paused to dig the keycard from his pocket and glanced at Brendan. "Hey, thanks for staying with me. I appreciate the backup." 

"No problem. It was interesting."

"It was boring as hell," Sam countered. 

Brendan laughed. "All the more reason to make sure you didn't fall asleep and give the fleet to the Pak'ma'ra by accident."

"Oh gods. Don't remind me." 

The hatch hissed open to their dark living area, and Brendan went in first, stopping a few meters in. He waved a hand. "The lights aren't going on. Weird."

Sam stepped inside too, and felt the wall by the door for the manual light switch. But when he pushed it, nothing happened. 

The hatch hissed shut, and without the light from the hall, suddenly the room turned pitch dark. His skin crawled with a deep chill. "Brendan..." he warned and moved back in front of the hatch, but it didn't open. Pushing the release did nothing. "Brendan, the door won't open."

A voice, not Brendan's, said, "That's because we're here to talk to you." The voice added with silky sarcasm, "Ambassador."

He whirled around, putting his back to the hatch. His eyes were getting a little more used to the emergency lighting of the purple strips up at the top of the walls, enough to see the silhouette of Brendan nearby and the impression of the nearest table and another man-shaped silhouette approaching.

Either the lights were brightening or he could see better, because he saw the man then. He looked like a human, with dark hair and eyes, pale skin, and wearing a suit. 

"How did you get in here? Who are you?" Brendan demanded. 

"Do not ask that question," the stranger snapped in sudden cold fury. With shocking speed and by nothing Sam could see, Brendan was flung off his feet, went tumbling through the air, until he fell to the floor in an unmoving heap.

"Brendan!" Sam tried to rush to him, but only got a few steps before something stopped him. He could see nothing, but it was as if there were coils wrapped around his body, trapping his arms at his sides from shoulder to knees. He could breathe, but only shallowly as it constricted his ribs. He tried to yell, "Security! Help!" but the words came out gasping and too quiet.

The stranger approached him, and Sam shuddered and struggled, feeling the source of that cold terror getting closer. "Let go of me! What are you doing?"

But then he looked behind the man and his breath caught in his chest at the _thing_ there. It was tall, vaguely spider like, and the outer exoskeleton was so dark it seemed to suck all the light in. And that incredible **cold** came with it, sliding inside his body unbearably. "Leave me alone."

Then, abruptly, he was off the floor and went flying, to slam up against the nearest wall. The blow rattled through him, and he was momentarily dizzy after his head hit the bulkhead.

"Did your masters think you would be safe?" the man asked in a conversational, but very cold tone. "That we wouldn't be able to smell the stench of their plans within plans?"

"What the hell are you talking about?" Sam demanded in confusion and fear. That thing was still looking at him, and it was unbearable - every fiber of his being seemed to reject it. They were the enemy. They were **evil.** He was nauseous, shuddering so hard it seemed he should be able to break his invisible bonds, but still they held.

There was a screech that ripped at Sam's brain and dug into his bones, and he clenched his jaw at the sudden pain of it. "No, don't! Get out!"

But the human laughed. "He doesn't know? How perfect. Then we'll learn together, won't we? Don't bother trying to call for your master, Samuel, he can't hear you."

His eyes stinging with tears, Sam stared at him and demanded in helpless fury, "What do you want?"

The other man smiled at him, with cold satisfaction. "That is our question. We begin there. And we will find the answer, piece by piece."

As the man and the creature he served came closer, Sam shut his eyes, trying to pray.


End file.
